Somewhere In Between
by BloodyWar2411
Summary: All Harry wants to do is find his place in the world, but his place doesn't exist. Harry isn't a light wizard. He isn't a dark wizard either. No, to Harry, there is only magic. It's too bad that no one else sees it that way... Tom Riddle Voldemort /Harry
1. Chapter One

_**Author's Note:**__Harry is in Seventh year. This is compliant to a lot of things, and noncompliant to others. It is a Tom Riddle(Voldemort)/Harry story. This is basically a prologue. Have fun!_

_**Disclaimer:**__If it were mine, would Voldemort be dead?_

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. _

**(***Harry Potter***)**

He didn't hate Voldemort. He didn't hate Pettigrew or any of the Malfoys. He didn't hate the Lestranges or the Dursleys. He didn't like them, but he didn't hate them. Then again, he didn't like very many people. He liked Hermione, Luna, Dobby, Neville, Lupin, and Sirius. He liked Professor McGonagall and Hagrid too. He would probably like Dumbledore if he couldn't see through the man's manipulations. It wasn't that he hated the man, he just didn't like him. Then there were people that he didn't like, and didn't not like. Professor Snape was an example of that. Harry Potter was actually, all in all, indifferent.

Of course, he probably should hate Voldemort, if not for what he's been doing to Harry ever since he started attending Hogwarts than for killing his parents, but he didn't. Voldemort did bad things, but Harry didn't know Voldemort, not personally. He had never sat down and had a heart to heart with the man, and he wouldn't judge him until he had. Sure, the man killed his parents, but how could Harry know for sure if his parents didn't deserve it? Every wizard would say that they were good people, but every muggle would say that the Dursleys were good people as well, and they beat Harry on a daily basis. In Harry's mind, it all boiled down to your personal morals on the subject. If you thought that muggles weren't worth the scum on your boots then you obviously won't find a problem with killing them. That doesn't make you heartless. After all, Lucius Malfoy loves Draco and Narcissa, and he doesn't have a problem with murdering muggles.

Harry supposed that he wasn't really cut out for the job of "Gryffindor Golden Boy." He didn't have a sense of justice. Sure, he would interfere if Ron was getting murdered right in front of him, but he would also interfere if the same was happening to a Deatheater. Often he thought that someone else should have been the Boy-Who-Lived, but he wouldn't wish his fate on anyone. A lot of times, he wished that the Sorting Hat would have put him in Slytherin, that Ron hadn't interrupted him before he had gotten a chance to shake Draco's hand, that he could have sat down and talked to Voldemort any of the three times that they had personally met; he wished for a lot of things, and got none of them. Really though, when he had first met Voldemort in First year, down in that chamber, he wished that the man hadn't been too bent on manipulating him to listen. He wished that when he met Tom, Voldemort's Horcrux, in Second year the man wouldn't have been too bent on killing him to hear what Harry had to say. He wished that just last year, at the tournament when Voldemort had stepped out of the cauldron looking like his breathtaking twenty-three years old self, the man would have stepped over to him and asked him his thoughts on the war. He didn't, of course, but it still would have been nice. In two weeks, Harry would start his Seventh year, and everyone – with the exception of Hermione – would ask him how he planned to defeat Voldemort. He wouldn't give them an answer because, well, he didn't. While Voldemort's plans were a little extreme, at least he wouldn't have people living under the false pretenses of being safe.

"_Boy_! Get out here and cook breakfast!" There was his cue: the shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia. Slowly, Harry eased his lithe body out of the much too small cupboard under the stairs. After a week without any signs of the Order returning, they put Harry back in his "rightful place." Harry had expected such a move, and complied without complaint. After all, as soon as he turns eighteen, he could be out of the house. Sure, he was a legal adult by wizard terms, but no muggle would rent out an apartment to him. Besides, the wards would be up until his eighteenth birthday, and the wizarding world would freak out if their Savior went missing.

The eggs and toast were finished in record time, cooked as perfectly as humanly possible. Harry's Uncle Vernon still found fault.

"These are undercooked! Are you trying to kill me, boy! I bet you are! That would make you and your little freak friends happy, wouldn't it!" His face began to turn a strange shade of red, and would no doubt be an ugly purple by the time he was through with Harry, but Harry didn't really care. Hurting Harry was a game that had gotten very old, very quickly in Harry's mind. Instead of focusing on his impending doom, Harry chose to examine his uncle. He was an extremely large man, with sandy blonde hair that would have looked good on anyone else covering his head. And on his face lay the same color hair, bushy and straw-like, falling over his lips much like a walrus. Vernon's fleshy face finally reached that ugly purple which Harry had described, and the man moved forward, clumsily, awkwardly, as if his feet had no wish to support him, but would if they must. Out of the corner of his intelligent emerald eyes, Harry watched Dudley Dursley enter the kitchen, grinning like a child at the circus. His body had fell into his father's end of the gene pool, making him large like a whale, blonde hair falling into his eyes, making him look "cool." At least, that's what Dudley said. It would take about seven seconds for his Uncle to reach him, and while this would normally be a good time to run, Harry saw no need for it.

His Aunt Petunia was going to throw a party that night, and wouldn't want blood on her floor. Vernon would only get one hit in, two if he was quick enough. Then Harry would be banished to his cupboard without food for the rest of the day, which was fine with him. He still had some candy left over from his birthday, and while he wasn't really one for sweets, it was food. As Harry predicted, Petunia came in after the first jaw-bruising smack, telling them that she didn't want blood on her floor. And, as Harry predicted, he was sent to his cupboard for the rest of the day without food. He sent a smile to Hedwig's empty cage – she always stayed with Hagrid during the summer – and leaned back. He was going to be in there for quite a while; might as well get comfortable. Swiftly, Harry fell into a peaceful slumber, watching the world happen through Voldemort's eyes.

He awoke hours later to the sounds of an ongoing party, a smile on his face. A horrible as it sounded, Harry enjoyed watching Voldemort work. He enjoyed feeling Voldemort's darkened magic flowing through him, enjoyed watching people bow to the forever twenty-three man's will without hesitation. At first, the visions had hurt. Hell, coming within a ten-foot radius of Voldemort had hurt, but then he stopped fighting their connection, stopped trying to break free of it, and he was fine. Harry wasn't sure whether or not it was a good thing that he had respect, even if only a little bit, for the man, but there was nothing much he could do about it. Oh well, it wasn't as if Voldemort wanted to do anything but to kill him. The smile gets softer as he thought of what could happen if they all just sat down and talked. If Dumbledore and Fudge would sit down and seriously converse with Voldemort, then maybe something could be worked out. Perhaps he and Voldemort could finally become friends, and there would be no light or dark, only magic. But maybe Voldemort was as bad as everyone made him out to be, taking lives for the sheer pleasure of it; no reasoning, no mercy. Actually, no truly good leader shows mercy, but a level head is needed. Harry would never follow someone without a level head. It's one of the reasons he would never follow Dumbledore, no matter what. The same goes for Fudge, and possibly Voldemort. Harry didn't know Voldemort, so he couldn't say, but he would like to. He would like to hear what Voldemort, what Tom Marvolo Riddle, had to say. Until then, he would sit quietly in his cupboard, waiting for the opportune moment to sneak out, away to the orphanage down the street where he often volunteered.

Hearing his stomach grumble, Harry pulled a chocolate frog out from underneath the floorboards, savoring the sweet flavor. It sounded as if the party was in full swing, which meant that it was probably around five o'clock. Five o'clock, the perfect time to visit Cane's Orphanage for the Underprivileged. Quietly, he slipped out of his entirely-too-small "room" and rushed to the door, his worn-out shoes barely making a sound against the hardwood floors. His sparkling green eyes glanced at the clock before slipping out the door, confirming the time being only a few minutes after five. Warm August air brushed his face, blowing his soft ebony hair around lightly. His short 5'9 stature allowed him to move quickly, jogging to stretch his legs. It took mere minutes to reach the orphanage where Harry's _best_ friend lived: Joshua Everett. Joshua's the sweetest four-year old on the face of the earth. Oh, and he's a wizard. Harry planned to adopt him as soon as he turned eighteen. The boy had big grey eyes, fluffy ebony locks, and the most adorable smile. It was a smile which shone brightly as the small child ran out to greet Harry, throwing his small arms around the elder's neck.

"Harry!" It had taken months to get the normally shy child to talk to him, but he eventually had. And, eventually, they grew close enough that they really did feel like father and son.

"Hello, Joshua." Harry's soft voice echoed throughout the air, getting the other children glance over at them. Sure, Harry would have to leave for Hogwarts in two weeks time, but after that he would be free to take Joshua away with him, to wherever he would go. Well, if he lived long enough he would. Maybe Voldemort would kill him first. If that happened, Harry's only regret would be that Joshua would be stuck in the God-awful muggle orphanage. The other children picked on him, making him feel like something beneath them, like a freak. He was working that out though. Hermione would turn eighteen just twelve days after him and would hopefully agree to adopt Joshua if he couldn't. Plus, he trusted who Hermione was currently – since second year – crushing on. This year, she would put her plan of wooing him into action. Picking Joshua up with only a little protest from his malnourished body, Harry grinned. Professor Snape wouldn't stand a chance.

"So what are you doing here today, Harry? I thought you weren't supposed to come back 'til Tuesday…" His words slurred lightly from the simple fact that he was so young, but were mostly correct. That was another thing about Joshua: he was extremely intelligent.

"I figured I'd drop by for a surprise visit, you know, since we only have two weeks left together. Do you mind?" Harry sometimes came off as a crowd pleaser, but that wasn't so. All he wanted was to make his friends, the few he had, happy. Was that so wrong?

"Nu-uh!" Joshua's response was that of a four-year old, and Harry was only happy that he had come along in time to stop any bad feelings from hatching. No child deserved to be unhappy when they could have done nothing to stop it. As the day wore on, slowly fading into the night, Harry put Joshua to bed. He didn't think much of the time, forgetting that he was supposed to be locked up in the cupboard at the moment, and took his time walking home. Harry supposed that was his first mistake.

"There he is, Mum! Out there!" Dudley's obnoxious voice echoed throughout the streets, half of his large body sticking out of Number 4 Privet Drive's window as he pointed at Harry. Well didn't that just suck? Once more, Harry didn't think much of it. If they beat him into unconsciousness then he wouldn't be able to clean up their mess, and that just wouldn't work. So Harry walked up to his relatives' house at a slow, steady pace, knowing that he would most likely gain a broken bone or two and quite a few bruises which he would have to heal as soon as everyone else went to sleep. He could feel his wand – which was currently holstered to his thigh – pulsing at the prospect of doing magic, and smiled, perhaps for the final time that night. One day his dream would come true. One day there would be no dark, no light, only magic. One day it would happen, but as his Uncle Vernon lifted Harry up by the collar of his too-big shirt, spitting angry words, Harry knew that one day was not this day. For this day, everything would be separated and bias. This day, there would be light, there would be dark, and there would be muggles. Harry didn't fit into any of those categories. He never would. This night, much like every other night, everything Harry had predicted came true, right down to his smile disappearing for the rest of the night.

Bottom of Form


	2. Chapter Two

_**Author's Note:**__ Hiya! This goes out to __**The Dark Lady Voldemort666**__ for her very welcome worries. I have no plans on dropping this story. I just got into a bit of an accident and didn't have my laptop at the hospital. That, and I had finals… Sorry again, and read on. Also, this story will not be in just Harry's Point of View. If you don't like that, bye._

_**Disclaimer:**__Think again._

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. _

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry smiled lightly as he spotted a worried Hermione looking around the train station. Her slightly bushy, honey brown hair hung in elegant curls over her left shoulder, bound together by a black hair band while dark brown eyes darted from left to right to left again. She always fretted over Harry's wellbeing. After learning that he didn't actually plan on fighting Voldemort in Fourth year, her worries only escalated, but Harry didn't suppose that he could blame her. He would be worried if she wanted to face someone who could and would kill her without a plan. Yet, he knew that he wouldn't change his plans. The wizarding world was long overdue for a Dark Lord according to history. Still, he did feel sorry for her; she was such a wonderful friend to him, after all.

"Hullo, Hermione. Did you have a nice summer?" Harry was sure that Hermione jumped a full foot in the air, and that only made him smile more.

"Harry! Don't _do_ that! You scared the wits out of me!" Her voice was reprimanding, but her eyes were relieved.

"You know, Hermione, I don't really think that's possible…" Harry shook his head with a small laugh before easily reciprocating a sudden hug from Hermione. They quickly found an empty compartment; sure that Ron would find them later. And, indeed, Ron did find them, but not how they expected him to. Normally, Ronald Weasley would pull open the doors with a flourish, dragging both his and his little sister's – Ginny Weasley – trunks behind him. Tattered, hand-me-down robes would be hanging off of his tall, gangly form just a bit, but Harry' eyes would always be drawn to Ron trying to shake his fire engine red hair out of his blue eyes. Though Harry's hair was the same length as Ron's – a little past his ears – Harry's rarely fell into his eyes. It was probably his father's genes that helped him there; his ebony hair always seeming to be windswept and staying out of his face and, more importantly, out of his emerald green eyes. This time, however, he was thrown into the compartment by one Draco Malfoy, who had been using _Mobilicorpus_ to avoid touching him.

"I would have brought the Weaslett as well, but then I remembered that a compartment can only hold so much garbage at once before spilling out and touching the rest of us, so I left her." Draco Malfoy's haughty explanation coupled with the blonde's mightier-than-thou smirk had Harry's mind working up a witty response in no time. It wasn't as if he actually cared what they did to the Weaselys, not at all. In fact, Harry thought of it all as friendly banter, okay, not-so-friendly banter, but banter nonetheless.

"Better not cross the line then, Malfoy. We wouldn't want to overflow." Harry knew that Draco was about the farthest thing from trash that existed – as did Draco – but offence was taken anyways.

"_You're_ one to talk. I'm surprised that your body hasn't exceeded the trash limit already, Scar-head." Draco's temper always had a way of running away with him. It was usually his downfall. This time would be no different.

"It's a matter of _class_, Malfoy. Some have it; others don't." While Harry was tempted to throw Draco over the edge with a crack about his father, he would never stoop to such levels.

"And how would you know, huh? I know for a fact that your _parents_ didn't tell you that! Or does your scar give you special abilities to talk to the dead now, too?" Draco didn't appear to have such morals; a sneer nowhere near as threatening as Snape's curling onto his face. Harry nearly smiled but held himself back. Letting everyone know that he thought of their arguments as a game would ruin the game.

"No, my scar doesn't give me the ability to speak to the dead, but it does give me _an_ ability. Do you know what that is?" Draco's scowl deepened, showing that he didn't know. "It gives me the ability to make you leave our compartment." Quickly, using wandless magic, Harry forced Draco, as well as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, out of their compartment and into the hall. He used his hands to slam the door in their faces. When he turned back around, Hermione was levitating Ron to lay on the compartment's left seat. The gangly red-head, of course, didn't completely fit, but he looked comfortable enough to leave be. Seeing that Hermione had everything under control, Harry left to find Ginny. It didn't matter how much he did or didn't like someone; if they were in trouble, he would help. Besides, if they had done something to Ron mentally then Hermione would be there to fix it when he woke up.

Harry quietly shut the door behind him and, seeing that the three Slytherins had crawled back to wherever they had come from, tried to choose which way to go. If he went left, there would only be about thirty compartments until he would reach the end of the train, but if he went right, there would be well over a hundred. Seeing that he would cover more ground by going right, Harry turned and began to walk. Around forty-seven compartments down, he ran into Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a dark-skinned Italian boy with curly black hair. The boy was, of course, taller than Harry, and stood at around 6'0.

"Lost again, Potter? You're in Slytherin territory." Blaise's heavy Italian accent practically dripped off of his words, making Harry smile. He loved the elder boy's accent.

"I'm fully aware of that, Zabini, but thank you for the warning. And no, I'm not lost, just… looking." Blaise gave a nod at Harry's words and simply leaned against the wall. Harry had always had a fairly amiable relationship with Blaise. The Italian had expected him to drop his friendly attitude after he accidently showed Harry his Dark Mark, but Harry simply helped him wrap it. It turned out that the Dark Mark was a deep magical brand burned into the left arm. Blaise had thought that he was alone in the bathrooms when he had been checking it out, and he was; for a bit. Halfway through his prodding of the mark, Harry had walked in and gotten Blaise's wand pulled on him in an instant. Harry had simply raised his hands in defeat and offered some help. Ever since then, they had been on level ground and could be considered, at least somewhat, friends.

"The Weasley girl." Blaise's question was more of a statement, but Harry nodded.

"You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?" Harry's emerald green eyes looked curiously up into Blaise's dark ones. Sometimes, Harry wished that he were taller than a mere 5'9, but he was happy enough overall.

"I would." Like a true Slytherin, Blaise offered no extra information.

"Would you mind telling me where she is? It would save me quite a bit of trouble." Harry stared at Blaise for a moment before the Slytherin finally responded.

"I'm afraid I can't. As much as I like you, I like myself more, and there are quite a few people who wouldn't be too happy if I told you anything." Harry gave a downcast nod of understanding, but Blaise didn't seem to be finished. "I can, however, give you a hint." Blaise leaned down until he was right next to Harry's ear before whispering, "You took a wrong turn." And then the larger boy was gone from Harry's personal space. Harry gave a relieved smile.

"Thanks, Zabini." Harry meant it. He meant everything he said.

"You owe me, Potter." Of course he did. He always owed Blaise.

"Just add it to my tab." With a final smile, Harry turned to find Ginny once more. At least he had one friend in Slytherin. Ten minutes later, he was on the other side of the train, checking every compartment along the way. Twelve compartments down from his own, he found a magically bound Ginny struggling on a compartment floor. Normally, someone in the compartment would have set her free, but this compartment was filled with First years, and even if one of them knew how to undo the binding spell, who wanted to face the wrath of a bunch of Seventh year Slytherins? No one, that's who. Taking out his wand, Harry murmured _Relashio_ and freed the young redhead. Instantaneously, she jumped up and pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

"Oh, _Harry_! I thought I'd never get free! God, I was just so _scared_. Thank you!" Harry awkwardly patted her on the back while she continued to gush. As soon as she finished her string of 'thank you's, a First year girl spoke.

"So you're Harry Potter? _The_ Harry Potter? The one who's going to save us all from… _You-Know-Who_…?" Her voice got quiet as she mentioned Voldemort, and before Harry could so much as open his mouth, Ginny was speaking.

"You did not _seriously_ just ask him that! Of course he's _the_ Harry Potter! You can't really be _that_ stupid! I'm sorry about them, Sweetie. Don't let it ruin your day. _I_ know who you are, and that's all that really matters, right?" The poor first years looked scared to death from when Ginny had shouted at them, her fiery red hair flipping all over the place before finally settling on her shoulders. She shouldn't have gotten it cut, that much Harry was sure of. At least her blue-grey eyes were still incredibly pretty. She leaned against him in a rather sexual manner, her slim, 5'8 form curled against his Quidditch-toned body. Gently, he peeled her off of himself.

"Ginny, we're _not_ dating." Harry tried to explain it to her as nicely as possible, but she wasn't making it easy on him.

"Of course we are! We've been dating since you asked me out in the Common Room last year!" Her voice was high, making Harry flinch a bit.

"Ginny, listen to me, please. I _never_ asked you out. I never _will_ ask you out. I just don't_ like_ you like that… I'm sorry." For a moment, she looked truly confused, but then understanding seemed to wash over her.

"It's alright, Harry. I get it." Harry's eyes widened a little in surprise. She did? "You're still afraid of other people finding out! Don't worry; I can keep a secret." Ginny gave a little wink before walking out the door, saying something about waiting for him in their compartment. Harry sighed and turned to face the First years.

"I'm sorry about her. She's a little_… loopy_, if you know what I mean." The four First years laughed little at his description of her, and Harry was glad to be able to lighten the mood. "Look, I don't mind your asking. Yes, I'm Harry Potter, but here's really nothing special about me. I just got lucky is all." Instead of the stars in their eyes dimming, they sparkled even more. He shrugged a bit when the three girls and boy didn't speak again and turned to leave.

"Um, er, bye Harry!" One of the girl's overly excited voice echoed after Harry, and he smiled again. It didn't take a genius to find his compartment; not with all of the yelling coming out of it.

"Bloody Hell, Hermione! Why should I start studying _now_! That's your and Harry's thing, not mine!" Quickly, wandlessly, Harry put up a silencing charm and entered.

"Which is why you're practically _failing_!" Her voice raised itself to match his; her sort of bushy hair frizzing in her anger. Magic did that sometimes, if it was strong enough. Hermione loved Harry's views on magic, and was currently trying to rid herself of her bias towards "dark" magic, but she wasn't quite there yet.

"I'm _not_ failing, Hermione! I've got Dreadfuls in everything but Potions and no one cares about that shit! They may not be fucking Outstandings, but they're not failing!" Ron practically snarled out his response, and Harry frowned. Harry liked Potions, actually. It was one of his favorite classes.

"I said_ practically_! Can't you at least _pretend_ to listen for once!" School work was one thing that Hermione didn't like to joke about.

"I can't believe they fight so much. They're like an old married couple. Promise me that we won't fight like that when we're an old married couple…" Harry swallowed. This was bad. Hermione looked nearly ready to hex Ron, and Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable.

"You don't know what it's like to have the Slimy Git first thing in the morning! I didn't want to have him again! And we all know that he only failed me because he hates me!" Again, Harry frowned. Snape hated Harry, and Harry still passed with an Outstanding.

"Don't call him that, Ronald! It's disrespectful! Besides, have you forgotten _already_ that I _do_ have Double Potions first thing in the morning!" Quickly, Harry put a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Come on, 'Mione. We need to change out and get to the Prefects' meeting. It starts in just a bit." Hermione didn't say anything to Harry's soft words, instead choosing to storm out. The worst thing that Ron could do was bring up Snape in a bad light. Hermione had been in love with the Professor since the middle of Second year, and Ron badmouthing the man every chance he got wasn't helping anything. It didn't matter that Ron had been in love with Hermione since the end of Fifth year. He wasn't her type. As he closed the compartment door and took down the silencing charm, they began to walk. Hermione and Blaise Zabini were Head Boy and Head Girl, while Harry, along with three other people, was a Prefect. After only minutes, they reached the changing rooms. Before Harry could walk into the men's room, Hermione tapped him on the shoulder.

"You don't think he's a slimy git…do you?" Her voice was small and unsure, making Harry toss out a comforting smile.

"Of course I don't, 'Mione." She offered him a smile in return, and they parted to change. Once in his wizarding robes, he left to meet Hermione fully dressed in her robes.

"Come on, Harry! This is our time!" The two friends quickly walked through the doors and smiled when they saw their head of house, Professor McGonagall. Beside of her stood Draco Malfoy, a sneer on his aristocratic face. Platinum blonde hair was magically styled to keep out of his face, looking a lot like he had used Muggle hair gel. His thin, 6'1 frame made him the tallest person in the room, if only by a little. That gave the young Malfoy all the confidence he needed.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, it's nice of you to join us." Her voice held a smile, even if her face didn't. Harry grinned lightly.

"Sorry, Professor! Are we late?" Harry was happy to see her again. She was one of those few people that he liked.

"Hullo, Professor, and no, Harry, we aren't late. We've actually got another ten minutes to get here." Hermione used her textbook voice on Harry, and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Well, I wasn't sure, so…" He gave a weak chuckle, knowing that the rest of the rest of the train ride would go by just fine.

When they finally reached the train's last stop, Harry looked out the window to gaze at the Thestrals. They were beautiful creatures, no matter what others thought of them. Quickly, he exited the train and went over to pet the Thestral which he usually used to get to Hogwarts.

"Hey, Girl. How are you doing?" The Thestral at Harry pushed its head against Harry's palm lovingly, and Harry smiled at him.

"Leave that thing alone and get into the carriage already, Harry! You're holding us all up!" Ron's faintly annoying voice echoed out into the night. Harry hesitated only for a moment longer before moving to the carriage to sit beside Hermione. The two chatted about Potions for a bit, using code words like Dragon fire – which meant Snape – and Phoenix tears – which meant her love for said man – to play out her plans of wooing him. After they had finished that, they began to speak of how much fun this year's Care of Magical Creatures class would be. That got Luna to join in, which got Neville to join in – and effectively switched their conversation onto Herbology – leaving Ron and Ginny the only ones not in the conversation. Another half hour and they reached Hogwarts, taking mere minutes to get into the Great Hall. As soon as Harry walked through the large double doors, he felt Dumbledore's magic wash over him. It wasn't a good feeling. No, the Headmaster's magic felt slimy, crawling all over his skin. It pressed against his every pore; trying to force him into a false sense of security. To most, it was relaxing, but they weren't aware of Albus Dumbledore's true intentions, so he could see why. Then again, Harry wasn't too sure of the man's true intentions either. He just knew that they weren't whatever Dumbledore was trying to convince everyone that they were. The First years filed in, looking just as scared as Harry did his First year. He smiled at the four First years that he had met on the train, and seemed to gain just a bit of confidence as they smiled back. It was funny as the group which seemed so close was sorted; each going to a different house. They still shared looks from across the room; silent promises not to lose contact. Harry sincerely hoped that they would be able to keep those promises. The girl that had been sorted into Gryffindor looked around shyly before catching Harry's eyes. He gave a nod to her quiet pleas and scooted over.

She happily took a seat just before Dumbledore started his ever-manipulative speech. Harry barely paid him any attention. Instead, he watched Hermione smile prettily at one Severus Snape and Ron glare jealously at Seamus Finnegan through his mound of food. Ron obviously thought that Seamus was on the receiving end of Hermione's smile. Oh, how wrong he was…When the feast was finally over, Hermione led the Gryffindors to the Fat Lady's portrait. She told them all the rules and the password (_Musical Chocolate_) and let them be. Harry loved the sight that greeted him when he entered. He loved it all; from the fireplace to the many staircases leading to their dorm rooms. It was his home. Plain and simple. Though it wasn't very late, Harry decided to head off to bed. Somehow Harry just knew that he wouldn't be getting much sleep the next night. Harry was the only one in the Seventh year Gryffindor boys' dorm, giving him first choice in beds. He, as usual, chose the ninth one on the left. There was no particular reason for that, just a habit. Before Harry could do anything more than move his trunk to the foot of the bed, he felt a presence coming up behind him. Swiftly, the ebony-haired boy turned around. When he did, he ended up nose to nose with Ron.

"…Ron?" Harry questioned after a moment of Ron not backing out of his personal space.

"I know you like her." Ron sounded incredibly angry, and Harry had no idea why.

"Um, I'm sorry but, what?" In truth, Harry had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. It would be pretty hard for Ron to know if Harry liked someone considering that Harry didn't even know that Harry liked someone.

"Hermione! I know that you like her! Bloody Hell, Harry, you couldn't be any more obvious! It's not enough that you're the Boy-Who-Lived; you have to have everything else, too! Don't you! Sure, you're Muggle folks don't spoil you like everyone else does, but you don't have to make up stories about them! Everything has to be a sob story when it comes to you, doesn't it! Bloody Fucking Hell, I don't even care anymore! Just back off my girl, alright!" Ron had turned as red as his hair after his rant, and Harry could do nothing but blink. He was always the last to find out these things about himself.

"Ron, I don't like Hermione like that, and she doesn't like you like that. It's just not-" Harry was abruptly cut off via wand to the throat.

"Would you quit _lying_ already! No one's buying your _bullshit_!" At that point, Seamus and Dean made themselves known.

"Hey! Calm down there, Ron! There's no need to start a fight on the first day back!" Seamus's heavy Irish accent cut through Ron's angry words.

"He's right, guys. Calm it." Dean had never been the most extroverted person, but Seamus had been helping him with that ever since they had begun going out.

"Shut up you bloody faggots. We're trying to have a conversation here!" At that, Harry wandlessly cast _Stupefy _on Ron. He had no right to talk to take his anger out on them. They were just being friendly.

"I'm sorry about him. We'll wake him up on our way out tomorrow, alright?" Harry offered an apologetic smile but they just shook it off.

"Don't worry, mate. Happens all the time." Seamus grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back; silently stepping over Ron to get ready for bed. He could only hope that, one day, Ron would understand.

Harry awoke to Hermione gently shaking him. He cracked open his emerald green eyes with a smile before crawling out of bed. In his sleepy daze, he remembered to cast a silent_ Ennervate_ to release Ron. The redhead continued to sleep. Quietly, he slipped into the bathroom to change. He didn't even bother trying to fix his unruly hair. That was a duel that he was bound to lose. On their way to the Great Hall, Harry filled Hermione in on Ron's behavior. She looked fairly worried, but Harry assured her that it wasn't her fault.

"Well, I figure if we finish breakfast by 7:20, we should make it to Professor Snape's classroom by 7:30, and have an entire half hour to admire the room where he works, and maybe even him working, before students start filing in! That way we'll be able to observe some of his habits and figure out the best form of action to take. Does that sound like a good plan to you?" Harry smiled at Hermione's worried rambling in between bites of food.

"I think a better plan would be you being yourself and just staring a conversation with him, but I suppose that's an alright plan, too." She grinned at him before pulling him into a soft hug.

"Thank you, Harry. Really." Her voice was soft, and Harry hugged her back.

"That's what friends are for, right? Besides, I have a favor to ask of you." As they made their way to the first class of the day – Double Potions – Harry filled Hermione in on his plans concerning Joshua. She was absolutely ecstatic; agreeing immediately. Finally, the two friends took a seat on what most had dubbed the "Gryffindor/Hufflepuff" the room. They fell into a comfortable silence for around ten minutes before the doors opened once more.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione perked up, thinking that it was Professor Severus Snape coming through the doors, and frowned when three students – with green and silver lining their robes – entered instead. The Slytherins didn't seem to notice the two Gryffindors.

"Don't be so modest, Draco! We all know that you'll be the Lord's right hand man in no time!" Pansy Parkinson, a girl who's face had always resembled a pig in Hermione's mind, curled her arms around Malfoy's bicep as she said that; obviously coming onto him. Hermione thought the obvious display of attraction was rather atrocious. Her dark brown eyes trailed over to Harry's form. His head was laying comfortably over his arms, and he appeared to be asleep, but Hermione knew better. His shoulders were, ever so slightly, tensed, giving away his awareness of the world.

"Of course I will be. After I got marked last year, he's been keeping a close eye on me. There's no doubt in my mind that he thinks I'm showing great promise." Malfoy's voice echoed arrogantly throughout the large room, bouncing off of the stone walls, and Hermione cringed. She was trying to be unbiased like Harry, but it wasn't working out very well. Sure, she had gotten over her hatred of Voldemort – seeing Harry's point in the fact that she had never met the man to hear his side of the story – but she had been meeting Draco Malfoy for the past seven years and he was still nothing more than an annoying, self-absorbed brat.

"Yeah, and I bet he'll be telling that to everyone else _pretty_ soon." Parkinson sounded smug at those words, forcing Blaise Zabini into the conversation.

"You don't mean-" The Italian was interrupted by Parkinson as she held her chin high, proud to be the one with all of the inside knowledge.

"I do. My daddy told me that You-Know-Who is going to be choosing his protégé-" This time, it was Zabini that cut her off. Hermione had always been rather fond of the Italian boy. He always held an incredibly intelligent conversation whenever she could force him into a chat.

"But so soon? You can't mean-" His voice held an incredulous tone, and Parkinson forced her way back into the conversation with a flourish.

"I do." Those two words seemed to clarify everything for everyone as they all quieted down. Or perhaps they stopped talking because other students had begun to slip through the doors? Hermione wasn't sure, but she knew that Harry probably had a hunch on the subject. She quickly filed it away in the back of her mind to ask him later.

At exactly 8:00, Snape entered the room. He came in with the doors banging against the walls and his robes billowing behind him, as usual, and Hermione loved it. If nothing else, the man knew how to make an entrance.

"Sleeping in my class already, Mr. Potter? Twenty points from Gryffindor." Harry lifted his head from his arms and blinked while Hermione smiled. They would regain the points by the end of class. Quickly and without the use of a wand, the Professor spelled their instructions onto the board. "  
You have precisely one hour. Begin." Severus's deep, resonating voice made Hermione shiver. As she walked up to the cupboard to collect the ingredients required, she eyed her Professor. He was tall, at least 6'2, with ebony hair down to his shoulders as straight as a ruler. At least, it was incredibly straight until it reached the ends where it flipped out into little half-curls. Severus's hair only managed to bring out his charcoal grey, nearly black, eyes. His eyes were what Hermione had fallen for. They were guarded, but so full of emotion. In Hermione's mind, they were the most beautiful thing in the world. Dreamily, Hermione made her way back to the cauldron she was sharing with Harry. As soon as she got there, it was straight to work. Within thirty-seven minutes, they had the light pink potion ready to bottle and turn in. It wasn't a surprise to anyone in the room. The pair were always finished early. Snape glared at them for doing so, but Hermione ignored it. He would understand her love eventually and, rejected or returned, Hermione would be happy. All she absolutely had to have was a conclusion. After all, she was only seventeen. There would always be another chance at love. She just hoped that she would get lucky enough to be successful on her first try.

For the rest of class, Hermione felt eyes on her. She couldn't, however, pinpoint where they were coming from. Swiftly, Hermione decided that it was a sign, a sign from Severus Snape. Perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks on her; perhaps it was her heart yearning for the Professor to be watching her; perhaps the Potions Master really was watching her. No matter the truth, Hermione convinced herself that it was him. In that, she also convinced herself to purposely leave behind her journal. She would come by once more after all of her classes were over and retrieve it, and maybe even engage the elder man in a friendly conversation? Yes. That's what she would do. So, at the end of class, Hermione made sure to leave her journal behind under the pretenses of "being late for her next class." It was a silly excuse, of course, considering that she had never been late to anything in her life, but it was all she could come up with on such short notice. Harry had merely smiled at her and laughed his airy laugh. That was one of the many great things about Harry. He would always support her, no matter what.

The rest of the day went by like molasses. Hermione supposed it was because she was so excited about seeing the Professor again, but she couldn't help it. He was just so amazing! She tried to get her mind off of it, really, she did. In fact, the young girl went through four books, three essays, seven intense conversations with Harry, and even a game of Wizards' Chess with Ron in an attempt to get her mind off of the subject of her Potions Professor, but none of it worked! By 8:34 PM, Hermione was ready to tear her hair out.

"Hey, 'Mione, didn't you forget your journal in Snape's room today? Now would probably be a goodtime to get it." Hermione glanced up. The many students, mostly Slytherins, were finally beginning to disperse from the Great Hall. A few teachers, Professor Snape, for example, also left early. The kind of bushy haired girl shot her best friend a thankful smile before jumping out of her seat.

"You're right, Harry! Thanks! I'll see you in the Common Room so we can compare notes, okay?" Hermione didn't look back to see him nod. He knew what she meant. Hermione had an extra skip in her step as she walked down to the dungeons to "retrieve her journal." A girly giggle escaped her lips. What fun! As soon as she creaked open the door to Professor Snape's classroom, her eyes widened. There, on the desk, was Draco Malfoy, his lips being completely and totally devoured by what was unmistakably Severus Snape. Malfoy's slim hand curled into Snape's ebony locks, just as Hermione had dreamed of doing, to pull the elder male closer. Hermione couldn't stop the gasp that slipped past her lips. Instantaneously, two pairs of eyes – one charcoal grey, nearly black, and one light grey, nearly silver – snapped open. Malfoy snarled at Hermione as soon as his lips were detached from Snape's.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" In no way were Draco Malfoy's words kind, and that only served to make the situation worse.

"I-I forgot my b-book, and came back to-" Hermione was cut off by Malfoy pushing himself away from Snape and standing up. It was then that she noticed their change in robes, that and the masks lying on Snape's desk.

"Forgot your book? I think you're lying to us." Malfoy's snarl transformed into a smirk as he said those words, and Hermione's eyes darted behind the blonde to Snape for reassurance. She got none as Snape simply gave her a cold stare and allowed his lover to advance on Hermione. Damn it! She had left her wand in her dorm room, sure that she wouldn't need it. After all those years being best friends with Harry Potter, she should have learned. In seconds flat, the youngest Malfoy was right next to her, his thin hand curled around her throat.

"In fact, I _know_ that you're lying to us. No sane Gryffindor would willingly skip dinner to travel into the dungeons, especially not for a book. Not even _you_ would do that, _Mudblood_. Now, how would you like to tell us the truth?" As soon as Malfoy finished speaking, a light beeping echoed throughout the room.

"Draco, release her." Snape's voice had an urgent tone floating about it, but Draco simply sneered. The only thing that Hermione had time to see just before being forced into apparition – right through the non-apparition wards – was Professor Snape grabbing the two masks. Moments later, Hermione felt her feet hit the ground, and opened her eyes. All around her stood Deatheaters, so many Deatheaters. They had masks ranging from nickel to silver to gold, showing off their ranks. Too many of those masks were concentrating on her. In a moment, the hand imposing on her neck was gone, leaving her knees to buckle beneath her and send her sprawling to the cold, hard ground. Her scared brown eyes looked up to see Draco Malfoy covering his face with nickel mask. She should have seen it coming from the Slytherins' conversation that morning. She shouldn't – couldn't – be here! Hermione wasn't Harry; she couldn't handle randomly being thrown into a pit of Deatheaters. Her eyes darted about as wands were raised in her direction, as arguments started over who would get to cast the first spell.

"Stop! We'll leave her for the Dark Lord. He shall decide her fate." Lucius Malfoy's voice rang in Hermione's ears, and she turned to face one of the few golden masks in the crowd. Cold, silver-grey eyes stared back at her. Minutes that felt like hours rolled by, all attention on Hermione, until they all began to fall. At first, she thought that some sort of savior, that Harry, had come to save her, but that dream was crushed the instant she realized that they weren't really falling down, but to their knees. Their Lord had arrived.

Slowly, gracefully, a tall man, 6'3 at least, waltzed into the clearing. He had beautiful ebony hair falling neatly around his face. It managed to fall just barely past his ears in a wavy fashion. High cheek bones and wine-red eyes told her exactly who she was facing. It didn't matter that she had never seen him before. His broad shoulders and dark magic gave her both chills of pleasure and fear. The incredible being in front of her was no human. It was too horrible, too fantastic, to be a mere human. Hermione shuddered as violent red eyes met deep brown. No, this was definitely not a human being. This was the Dark Lord Voldemort, and she didn't stand a chance.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry rushed down to the dungeons faster than any broom could have taken him. Minutes after Hermione had left, Harry saw the signs. He noticed how it was mainly the Slytherins who had left, how Professor Snape had departed with nothing but a nod to Dumbledore. He had remembered the Slytherins' conversation from that morning, replayed it in his mind until he could place their tones; until he could practically hear how soon the meeting was supposed to be. It took Harry all of twelve minutes after Hermione had left to figure out that he might as well have thrown her to the snakes. It took him four more minutes to make it down to the Dungeons after figuring this out, and a minute more to process Snape's empty classroom. She was there, somehow, someway, Hermione had been dragged to a Deatheater meeting, and it was Harry's fault. He had encouraged her to go down there and make it or break it. A frown reached Harry's face. He got her into the mess; he would get her out. In just a few moments, Harry had her magical signature on his radar, and forced himself to follow her trail. He wasn't apparating, per say, but more travelling with his magic. The wards could stop dark magic, and they could stop light magic, but nothing would ever be able to stop pure magic. The white essence of his magic swirled about him, sending him spiraling through time and space, right to Hermione.

He landed in a crouched position just behind Hermione, his magic visible to all as it swirled around him protectively. All he had time to do before his magic took hold of him once more was grab hold of Hermione. Green clashed with red, and Harry was pushed back into nothing. He held onto Hermione's unconscious body tightly as he fell; directing himself back towards Hogwarts. Finally, he landed a few feet away from the Forbidden Forest. Harry allowed himself a small smile. At least Hermione was safe. With that in mind, he began the long trek back to the castle, back to Gryffindor Tower.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom Marvolo Riddle stared at where the two seventeen year olds had been with slight curiosity, leaving his many followers on their knees as they bowed to him. The boy's magic had been… _wondrous_. It had been beautiful and sensuous, dancing over olive skin with improbable ease. If there was one thing that Tom didn't take lightly, it was power, and if there was one thing that Harry Potter had, it was power. That much he was sure of. And what incredible power it was. The boy's power laid in his magic, as all wizards' did, and that was what truly astounded him. The magic had been pure, unintentional, _whimsical_, really. Tom licked his lips. He could practically taste the magical residue left behind, and it was _addicting_. It didn't have the bitter taste of darkness, or the overly sweet taste of the light, it was simply magic. He wanted more. In an instant, the Dark Lord's mind had come up with a solution. Why must he, the greatest Dark Lord in history, listen to a prophecy made nearly eighteen years ago? There was more than one way to win a war, and one of the ways was with Harry Potter at his side.

"Rise." His command was instantly followed, and all bodies arose to take their respected places in a circle around him. The Dark Lord stood in the middle of all of the people not as Tom Riddle, but as Voldemort, and allowed a sinister smirk to grace his features.

"My loyal followers, there have been a few changes made to our plans; changes that are to be followed. If I find that one of these changes have been disregarded, there will be punishment." Again, Tom's tongue darted out to taste Harry's magic. "_Severe_ punishment. Do you hear me?" A nearly deafening roar met his ears, making his smirk grow. Soon enough, Harry Potter would be another dog at his feet, and Tom would be able to use the boy's magic as much as he liked. Soon enough, Harry Potter would see his place in the world: at Tom's feet. Soon enough, everyone would realize the truth of the matter; realize that everything they did was because Tom allowed them to. Make no mistake. This was _his_ world, and it was only a matter of time before he took the reins and let everyone know just that.


	3. Chapter Three

_**Author's Note:**__ Hey there, good people of Mars! I'm back! Listen, this is now rated 'M' because of __**SEX**__. __**Sex **__will happen a lot to keep you all placated because I'm not going to rush Tom and Harry into bed. There will be detailed __**sex**__ between main characters and not-detailed __**sex **__between not-main characters. Now, how many of you stopped to read this because you saw the bold word '__**sex**__'? _

_**Disclaimer:**__I don't really feel like fighting Tom for Harry, so I'm going to go with no._

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. _

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry ran his fingers through Hermione's hair for the umpteenth time as he waited for her to awaken. He had hoped that she wouldn't have to face anything like that, at least not yet. Green eyes narrowed and Harry scowled at himself. He should have seen it coming; should have stopped her from going to meet Snape. Finally, after what seemed like forever but was really only a few hours, Hermione opened her eyes. Dark brown orbs immediately darted around the Room of Requirement, taking in the white walls, white carpet, burning fire in the fireplace, white bed, and, most importantly, lack of Deatheatheaters. Finally, she turned her eyes on Harry. The tears instantly began to flow.

"Oh, Harry! It was _horrible_!" She sobbed into his robe. He just kept running his hand through her hair, trying his best to comfort her. "He's taken!" Harry's hand stopped and green eyes widened. They took someone?

"Whom? 'Mione, who did they take? I've got to help him! Who did they-" Hermione cut Harry off with a shake of her head.

"Not _they_ Harry. _He!_ Draco Malfoy! He's dating Professor Snape!" She continued to cry, and Harry's mind went blank. That was much more than he needed to know. Still, he supposed it was to be expected on some level. After a moment, Harry caught up with the fact that Hermione wasn't crying from the trauma of almost being killed, but from heartbreak. He sighed, continuing to run through her hair and rub her back while whispering sweet nothings. He hadn't expected it to work out with the professor, but he had hoped. In the end, he supposed that it was for the better. Now she could be with someone her own age. He smiled a bit. A certain Slytherin had kept his eye on her for the longest time. Perhaps that boy would finally have a chance. Harry wasn't the best of friends with him, but everyone deserved a fair chance. Minutes passed before Hermione's sobs calmed into sniffles, and then into silent tears, before finally stopping.

"What'll I do now?" Harry didn't stop his ministrations, trying to keep her calm.

"You'll move on. It's all you can do." He kept his voice soft, even softer than usual, when speaking to her.

"But how? I've liked him for the past four _years_, Harry! Who could I move on to? Surely if there were someone better I would have fallen for _him_ and not Severus, right?" Harry smiled up at the ceiling when she said that.

"Maybe you were just too concentrated on the sun to stop and look at the stars." Hermione opened her mouth to respond to his metaphor, but nothing came out. So she closed her mouth and buried her head into his chest instead. "How do you know that they're dating?" It was best to get her talking, no matter what about. Her head lifted up to look into his eyes, and he knew that he was in for a small speech.

"I walked in under the guise of retrieving my journal, and they were making out!" Hermione threw her hands into the air and Harry cocked an eyebrow.

"Making out?" He was curious as to what she considered making out. She gave an exasperated sigh before explaining.

"Yes, Harry. _Making out_. You know, kissing? As in with tongue. As in Severus's tongue was shoved down Draco's throat and Draco was pinned to the desk!" Hermione shouted the last part, making Harry smile a bit. She would be fine in no time.

"I see… And, out of curiosity, what did you think of your first Deatheater meeting?" He truly was curious to know. He had thought that she would have brought that up first, after all.

"It was… petrifying. I thought that I was going to die! I mean… They were all looking at me. They all wanted to hex me first! If you hadn't come, I don't think I would have…" The tears welled up in her eyes once more and Harry shushed her and pulled her limp body into a hug once more. "And then _he_ came. Oh, gosh, he was beautiful Harry! I was so _scared_. I wanted to run away and move closer all at once." Hermione didn't clarify who she was speaking about. She didn't have to. Harry had seen Tom many times before, most of the time, Tom was being Voldemort, but every once in a while Harry got to see Tom shine through. He would see a cunning, devious young man that would do anything to make the world as he wanted it. He would see someone who loved magic and everything that came with it. He would see the man that he respected, if only just a little. That was the man that Harry wanted to talk to. That was the man that carried himself with such an air of dangerous elegance that he couldn't help but stare. That was the man that was hiding behind a name. Harry wanted to know why such a great man hid behind a stupid name like _Voldemort_. It showed cowardice, not strength. Harry sighed, noticing that Hermione had fallen asleep on top of him. He supposed that he would never know. Sluggishly, Harry set his wand to go off at 6:00 AM. That was when they usually got up to get ready. As soon as that was done, Harry followed in Hermione's example and drifted into a world of slumber.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco threaded his hands into Severus's hair as the man thrust deeper into him.

"Oh my—S-_Severus_! F-faster! Please!" His professor obeyed without a hitch, forcing himself into Draco at a much quicker pace. The pleasure intensified as the Potions Master hit his prostate harder and harder each time. It took mere minutes for Draco to reach his limit. "Sev! I'm co-" Draco didn't get to finish his sentence as the tight coils in his lower abdomen gave him release. Severus Snape followed soon after, his hot seed spilling inside of Draco's body. They lay there for a moment, panting, before Draco spoke. It was how they did things. Potions, then conversations, then sex, then conversations, then sex again. It's how they had worked since the end of fifth year. All in all, for two reclusive, potion-loving men, it was a wonderful lifestyle.

"Could you believe the nerve of that Mudblood? She waltzed in on us like she owned the place… I think she deserves a good hexing session courtesy of my eleven inch oak with Thestral hair core." Draco could imagine it already, and it was fun.

"Now, Draco, keep yourself under control." Severus's gravelly voice sent shivers down Draco's spine, making him turn around to face his teacher. Charcoal-grey eyes so dark they were black stared down at Draco as Severus slipped a long arm around his waist. Draco frowned – though it was more of a pout, really – and leaned on his elbow to better look Severus in the eyes.

"Why? The Dark Lord said that we had to help court _Potter _over to our side,_ not_ Granger." Draco didn't like the little Gryffindor know-it-all. He never had, he never would. Then again, he didn't like Potter either. The Malfoy heir's frown deepened. He didn't know what had so quickly changed the Dark Lord's mind about Potter, but it had, and now they weren't to lay a harmful hand on the boy. It wasn't only that which irked Draco, but the fact that he was supposed to have been named the Dark Lord's protégé at the meeting. Yet, the Dark Lord hadn't brought up the subject even once. Of course, no one had questioned him. The Dark Lord was too great to question. Draco sighed, thinking back on how the Dark Lord had looked. From his ravishing good looks to his incredible body to his amazing mind, the Dark Lord was perfect. Comparing the Dark Lord to Severus, there was no contest. Of course, he wasn't in love with the Dark Lord or anything. Draco had feelings for Severus, but it wasn't love. He held strong lust for the Dark Lord, and would do anything to please him, but that wasn't love either. Draco didn't love anyone but his parents. Still, that wasn't the kind of love he was looking for. Draco sighed again. He would find what he was looking for eventually, he supposed.

"Miss Granger is Mr. Potter's best friend, remember? If you hurt her, he'll never so much as listen to, let alone consider, our proposition." Draco's sneer softened into a light frown as he leaned against Severus's chest. Even if he didn't have love, he had Severus.

"I guess so, Sev. I guess so…" With those words said, Draco drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ronald Weasley awoke to the noise of the other boys getting ready. His lips smacked together, still dry from sleep, as he looked lazily around the dorm. There was Neville walking out of the door, Dean rolling out of bed, Seamus coming out of the bathroom, and numerous other boys walking about or making their beds. One person that he noticed wasn't there though, was Harry James Potter. Once he noticed that, he hopped out of bed and rushed into the Common Room, not caring that he had nothing but pajama pants on. Quickly, he grabbed the arm of a random Seventh year girl.

"Where's Hermione!" The girl's immediate reaction was to sneer and pull away.

"How should I know? I haven't seen her since dinner yesterday." After the girl finished sneering out those words, she upturned her nose and walked out. Ron growled. He knew it! He just _knew_ that Harry had a thing for Hermione! And he probably forced her to sleep with him by saying, "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived! Fuck me or I won't save you from old Moldy-Wart!" It was the only reason that Harry was the Seeker on the Gryffindor team and not Ron. He held that over their heads! Who actually cared, anyways? The big, scary, _Dark Lord_ was like sixty-five by now! Who was scared of an old man! What would he do? Throw prunes at them? Sure, if he were younger than Ron might be a little afraid, but he _wasn't_! Besides, Ron was clearly the most powerful Wizard of their generation. Nothing could beat him.

Ron's scowl turned into a self-righteous smirk at that thought. He quickly finished throwing his clothes on and left. He could beat Harry Fucking Potter, and he would prove it! He would prove to Hermione that he was better than Harry, better than anyone that she could think of. He was Ronald Weasley, and he was going to challenge Harry Potter to a duel! Ron thought back on all of the times that Harry had been challenged to a duel. He had declined every single time; through insult and injury. Thinking back, Ron had never actually seen Harry duel. His smirk grew wider. Harry probably couldn't duel! Everything he did was for show! All Ron had to do was expose him! Then Hermione would love him again… It was perfect. Except for one thing; it was perfect. How would he get Harry to agree to a duel? Ron's eyes swept across the Great Hall when he entered, first spotting Harry and Hermione laughing together, enjoying each other's company, and then over to Draco Malfoy. That was it! Harry had always hated Malfoy, and Malfoy had always hated Harry! Sure, Malfoy hated him, too, but not nearly as much as he hated Harry! All he had to do was get Harry to think that he was friends with Malfoy! It would drive Harry crazy to know that he had lost his best friend to Malfoy! And Hermione was all about the inter-House friendship thing, so he would be scoring points with her at the same time! It was brilliant! He would put his plan into action right after Double Potions!

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione looked around the Great Hall for the mysterious boy that Harry had been going on about. It was frustrating considering the only hints he would give her were, "He's a Seventh year male." That lowered it down quite a bit, but not enough. After a few more minutes, Hermione gave up.

"Come on, Harry! Just tell me which House he's in!" She was getting desperate. All Hermione really wanted to do was look up at the table of professors and convince herself that it was all a dream, that she still had a chance with Professor Snape, but she wouldn't allow herself to do that. This was her "Snape detox period" as Harry had so kindly dubbed it. Harry smiled that soft, secret smile of his and shook his head.

"It could be anyone Hermione," Harry paused to look up before his smile became a devious grin, "even Ron!" He said that and Hermione blanched. Ron was just so… biased. He was insufferable in every sense of the word and had the most obvious crush on her. Really, he could at least _try_ to hide it! That, and he couldn't tell that Hermione wasn't at all interested in him. An instant later, Hermione saw why Harry even brought the red head up.

"Hey, Hermione! How're you doing?" Ron's high, nearly pubescent voice echoed in Hermione's ears, making her cringe. Quickly, she slapped a smile onto her face.

"Hey, Ron! I'm doing well, um, how about you?" Hermione tried to keep eye contact with Ron, but she just couldn't. His robes were dusty and wrinkled. While she didn't care if they were new of hand-me-downs, he could have at least taken the time to spell out the wrinkles, or wash it, at the least! Hermione wrinkled her nose both at her thoughts and at Ron. She hadn't been such a neat-freak until she had met Harry. Now, she couldn't look at a robe without picking out all of the dust particles and free threads on it. It was horrible. Harry snickered beside of her, and Hermione really had no choice but to elbow him in the ribs. This was _not_ funny!

"Oh, I'm doing great! I've even made a New Year's Resolution!" Hermione blinked at Ron's words. It was the beginning of August… "I'm going to help Harry defeat You-Know-Who!" At those words, both Hermione and Harry simultaneously choked on their food, but Ron wasn't finished yet. With a mouth full of food, he continued. "You know, I figure he's probably old and crusty by now, so he can't be too dangerous. And we all know that you're not the greatest at dueling, Harry – no offence – so I'll go along and speed up the process!" Hermione blinked again, remembering what Voldemort had looked like the night before. He was about as old and crusty as Hermione was!

"Um, Ron? I really don't think that you should-" Harry was cut off by Ron, who sent chewed food flying across the table with each syllable.

"Don't worry about it mate. That's what friends do, right?" Hermione looked over to Harry, who looked rather uncomfortable, before glancing back at Ron, who was waiting for an answer. Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't bail Harry out of this one.

"You know, I just don't think it'd be very safe for you to go… um, mate." Hermione waited for Ron to explode after Harry's polite declination, but it didn't come. Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes. Ron was grinning, but it wasn't a good grin.

"You know what, Harry? Okay. I won't help you defeat him as long as you don't get in my way when I defeat him." With that, Ron stood up and moved seats. Hermione just stared at where he had sat.

"Did he really just..?" Hermione let her question dangle in the air, and harry gave a slow nod. Ron was going to try and defeat Voldemort on his own… Hermione was much better at magic than Ron, and she couldn't decide whether to kiss his boots or run screaming in the opposite direction. He was doomed.

"You know, I think I will give you another hint." Harry still sounded a bit out of it, but Hermione nodded anyways, trying to get her mind off of the youngest male Weasley facing Voldemort. "It's not Ron." Hermione turned to Harry, a small smile crawling across her face. He was always trying to lighten the mood. She shoved him lightly, deciding to enjoy life for a moment. They could focus on talking Ron out of it during Double Potions.

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron listened to Harry and Hermione laugh about something or another while he tried to pay attention to what some random Fourth year was saying. He had tried to give Harry another chance, but it just wasn't working. That scar made Harry's head so big that he couldn't accept that he would never be able to defeat Voldemort. Ron frowned. He had wanted to show off in front of Hermione and say that name, but he just couldn't. Ron gulped down half of his goblet of pumpkin juice before stuffing some more of his omelet into his mouth. That didn't matter. He would get Malfoy's help, beat Harry in a duel, gain Hermione's love, and defeat Voldemort, becoming the most famous wizard in history. It was all planned out. And it would all work out, too. If Fred and George could make their own successful joke shop then Ron could defeat Voldemort!

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry glanced between Draco and Professor Snape for a moment before returning to his potion. Now that he was looking for it, he was ashamed to have not noticed it before! It was so _obvious_! They shared secret glances all throughout the class; and Snape would, every once in a while, go over and place a hand on Draco's back while checking the boy's potion, his hand lingering just long enough to make it intimate. Really, Harry should have seen it coming! Finally, Harry finished his potion and turned it in, Hermione finishing an instant later, followed by Draco and then Blaise. Everyone else was still finishing up. Harry looked at the four vials, noticing that one was a slightly lighter blue than the others. _Hermione's_. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Blaise beat him to it.

"Did you remember to stir counterclockwise three and a half times after adding the slug slime?" Blaise's voice was like silk, just as it always was, as he asked the question. Hermione opened her mouth to say something along the lines of 'Of course,' but then she closed it, her eyes widening.

"Oh my… It's too late to fix it now, isn't it? Oh no…" Though her words started out slow, they sped up as she realized that she had completely messed up her potion. Blaise laid a hand on her shoulder, getting her to look up at him.

"No, we can still fix it." Her pretty brown eyes widened and she quickly grabbed her vial and Blaise's hand, dragging him back to her still full cauldron.

"Hurry! We've only got ten more minutes!" She sounded just a bit frantic, and Harry couldn't help but smile. Blaise, obviously the stronger of the two, allowed himself to be dragged away, his eyes completely focused on Hermione's slim form. Harry looked up to make sure that Snape didn't see Blaise and Hermione working together – it was independent potion making, after all – before turning back. Draco looked at him for a moment, and then turned back to face the wall, leaning against the homework table.

"So you know then, huh Potter?" Draco didn't specify what, exactly, Harry knew, but Harry was pretty sure that he knew what the Slytherin meant.

"I do, but I won't tell anyone." Harry was completely serious; he wouldn't tell a soul. Silver eyes turned to him incredulously for a moment before turning back to stare at the wall. Draco reassembled his blank mask before speaking again.

"Why? It would ruin me; at least for a bit." Harry smiled at Draco's statement. He really didn't get it.

"It's not my place to tell. What you do is your choice. I wouldn't want you to tell any of my secrets to the world, so why would I do that to you?" Truly, it was a pretty evident answer to Harry.

"You know what, Potter, you're not half bad." Harry smiled at Draco's words, but the blonde wasn't finished. "Don't go getting a big head about it or anything. You're still an annoying, goodie-two-shoes, self-sacrificing Gryffindork, just not a half-bad one." The words didn't deter Harry's good mood at all.

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment." They sat in an amiable silence for another minute or so until Hermione came rushing back, the potion in her vial now the right color. Quickly, she placed her vial into its correct slot and breathed a sigh of relief. Blaise sauntered up behind her, getting within four inches of her before she turned around and threw her arms around his neck.

"Thank you so much, Blaise! It means the world to me, really!" Immediately after those words were spoken, she seemed to realize what she was doing and let go, a light blush dusting her face. "Sorry, I just… um, sorry…"Her voice was quiet and her head was down, causing her to miss the small, self-satisfied smirk which stretched across Blaise Zabini's aristocratic features. Finally, with three minutes left to spare, the rest of the class began to turn in their vials and clean up their stations. Ron was the last one to turn his in, an olive green colored liquid in the vial. Neville's probably would have turned out similarly if it hadn't exploded halfway through. Harry had ever been able to figure out how the boy was so good at cooking yet so horrible at potions. As soon as the last vial was in, Snape stood.

"There is a nineteen inch essay on the pros, cons, uses, and misuses of an aging potion due on Monday. You are dismissed." Harry looked at Hermione once Snape finished saying that. They had read up on the potion last year in hopes of figuring out how Voldemort had managed to come out so young, so the essay would be a synch. Considering the fact that they had five minutes to leave and get back to here, Hermione and Harry opted to just stay in their seats. Quickly, Hermione pulled Harry in for a whispering session.

"I only looked at him a couple of times the entire hour and, you know, I think I'll be okay! He's… better suited for Draco anyways. I just… I think that you were right about me being so focused on him that I didn't see anyone else, Harry." She smiled a smile that Harry hadn't seen since First year, which got him to smile as well.

"Have you caught your eye on anyone else, yet?" Maybe she had finally noticed him.

"Well, no… but I'd like to! Will you _please_ tell me which House he's in already!" Harry grinned at Hermione's pleas. For the smartest girl in school, she could be pretty dense. The Gryffindor Golden Boy pretended to think about his answer for a moment.

"No."

**(***Blaise Zabini***)**

Blaise looked at Draco for a moment, trying to gage whether the taller boy was lying or not.

"So… you actually approve of my infatuation with Hermione?" It was incredibly hard for him to believe such a thing. Draco Malfoy hated all Gryffindors, Mudbloods, and people who excelled at school more than he did. Draco Malfoy hated Hermione Granger.

"I don't like her, no. I think you could do much better, yes. But you heard the Dark Lord. And if we want Potter on our side, we need to get the Granger girl as well." See, now that made a lot more sense to Blaise. In fact, if it weren't for his Slytherin mask, the Italian would have smiled. The Dark Lord had unknowingly given him permission to date a Mudblood and, if Blaise had his way, marry one too. Blaise had been pining after Hermione since halfway through Fourth year when she had forced him into a conversation about how magical creatures could be better integrated into their world. After that, he couldn't find anyone else that could keep his attention even half as well as she did. After that, all of his conquests had honey brown hair and dark brown eyes. He had seen Ronald Weasley practically throwing himself at her just as easily as he had seen her politely avoiding the subject of them dating. He was worried about Hermione falling for the Weasel just about as much as he was concerned about Potter finally giving into the Weaslett's advances: not very. In the end, Hermione would have no choice but to fall for him. Ron Weasley and anyone else who stood in his way be damned.

"Don't worry. I approve of you and Snape as well." Blaise smirked tauntingly as silver eyes shot over to him. It wasn't very obvious, but Blaise was all about observations.

"Touché." Draco had caught Blaise's threat with ease. If the blonde said a word about his going after Hermione then Blaise would make sure that the world knew about his relations with their Head of House. Sure, it was underhanded and devious, but it worked. Blaise would never claim to be as nice as Potter. He would say something at the drop of a dime, but only if Draco broke his end of the bargain. If nothing else, the Italian was a man of his word. Soon enough, Draco matched Blaise's smirk with one of his own. There was a reason that they were put into Slytherin…

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron returned from the bathroom and slid into his seat a moment before the bell rang. A sigh of relief slipped past his lips. He was safe!

"Class, the next assignment shall be partner work, and to make sure that the work is shared equally,_ I_ will be assigning your partners." Snape's annoying, drawling voice echoed throughout the room. Ron rammed his head onto the desk. "Attempted destruction of school property; twenty points from Gryffindor." The Slytherins laughed at their professor's words, making Ron groan. He hated potions. He was sure that the Slimy Git was going to assign him someone horrible, just for fun. God, he hated that man! "Mr. Zabini will be paired with Miss Granger." There went his chances of being with his love! "Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter." And there went his chances of getting an O… Neville grinned at getting to work with Harry, and Ron glared at him. Some people had all the luck… "Miss Lovegood with Mr. Goyle. Miss Parkinson with Mr. Crabbe. Mr. Weasley with Mr. Malfoy." Ron's mind went blank, stopping him from hearing the rest of the pairings. He was stuck with Malfoy. _Malfoy_, for Merlin's sake! The blonde would mess up their potion on purpose to give Ron a bad grade, or worse, to poison him! "Begin." And then the instructions were on the board. Without delay, everyone scattered to their respective partners. Ron didn't move.

"Weasley. Get off your lazy arse and get over here." Malfoy's haughty voice made Ron's eye twitch before he realized the glory of his situation. Now he wouldn't have to corner the platinum blonde after class! With renewed vigor, Ron stood, collected his things, and went over to Malfoy's table, where everything was already set up. Silver eyes narrowed at him, suspicious about his sudden change in attitude, before brushing it off.

"I need your help." Ron hated saying the words, but it was necessary. Instantly, a pale blonde brow rose. "I know you don't like Harry, and right now, neither do I. I need your help getting revenge." Ron could practically see his pride rotting on the floor, but he tried not to pay attention to that. Instead, he watched Malfoy mull it over. After a moment or two, the signature Malfoy smirk appeared on his features.

"What kind of revenge are we talking about?" Malfoy sounded disinterested, but the red head knew better. Ron sat down beside of Malfoy as the blonde began to chop fresh monkey brains into small cubes.

"I know for a fact that Harry's a horrible dueler. Why else would he turn down all of those challenges? So I want to get him to duel me, and show the world that he's a fraud! Then Hermione will realize that she's been wasting her time on him and come back to me." The precision chopping stopped for a millisecond before continuing and a second brow joined the first at Malfoy's hairline, showing the Slytherin's skepticism. Ron ignored him and went on. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that it would completely humiliate Harry. I need you to help me bait him into it!" Ron left out the part about defeating Voldemort. Malfoy might not help if he knew that Ron was going to take down his leader.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco thought about what the red head was saying for a moment before a devious idea popped into his mind. If he could get Potter to duel the Weasel, and the Dark Lord to attend the duel, then he would definitely be in favor. If the Dark Lord saw that Potter actually couldn't duel then perhaps he would switch back to the original plan. And if Potter really could duel then the Dark Lord would get a show out of it. Either way, Draco won.

"Deal." Maybe Draco could even get Severus to host a tournament. That would give the Dark Lord a reason to be there. Tournaments always had spectators. The plan was coming together marvelously well in Draco's mind. The Weasel grinned at Draco's agreement and threw a strand seaweed into their cauldron. The reaction was instantaneous. It exploded. A sneer curled on Draco's lips as he first examined his ruined potion, and then his ruined robe. Potter snickered from across the room, making Draco swing his glare onto the ebony haired _Savior_.

"You think something's funny here, _Potter_?" Draco practically spit out the word 'Potter' before taking a step towards the shorter boy. Potter poured some of his perfect potion into a vial – which Draco would have been doing in the next few minutes if it weren't for the dimwitted Weasel – and nodded. He obviously found Draco's misfortune to be funny. Oh, yes. Draco would definitely be helping the Weasel get his revenge. In fact, he would be in the tournament. If the Weasel couldn't beat Potter then Draco would, and if Potter couldn't beat the Weasel then Draco would. No one messed with a Malfoy.

"Forty points from Gryffindor for ruining a perfectly good potion. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, detention at nine o'clock tonight. Don't be late." Draco listened to Severus's voice as his lover punished the Gryffindors. He wasn't sure what Potter had done, but he didn't really care. Severus's baritone voice was music to Draco's ears. Swiftly, he spelled his robes clean and leaned back into his chair. Life was good.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus Lupin leaned back in his chair to watch to watch the two Malfoys and Sirius talk. Apparently, Voldemort had changed his mind about killing Harry. That was good news for them, but it just didn't sit well with the werewolf.

"We're serious about this, Mr. Black. The Dark Lord has ordered us not to harm a hair on your godson's head." Lucius Malfoy seemed completely somber about the ordeal, and Remus believed him on that account, but it just… wasn't right.

"Well I'm _Sirius_ about everything and I don't want you bloody ponce's anywhere near my godson!" If it weren't for the situation that they were in, Remus would have rolled his eyes at the pun.

"Listen, Sirius. We're not sure why our Lord suddenly wants Harry to join him, but he does. We just want to know that if everything works out the way the Dark Lord has planned you'll be on our side." Sirius let out a harsh bark of laughter at Narcissa's words. Sirius opened his mouth to let out what was sure to be another insult when Remus intervened.

"We'll be on whatever side Harry's on, but trust me when I say this: Harry is not stupid. If he, for one reason or another, decides to join your side then it'll be for a marvelous reason. If your Lord," Remus restrained himself from saying Voldemort out of respect for their guests, "just wants to use Harry as another lap dog then it'll never work. Just make sure he knows that." Narcissa looked into Remus's eyes after he was finished and waited just a moment before nodding.

"I'll be sure to let him know. Thank you." She gave another nod, this time in thanks, before gracefully rising to her feet. They left without another word. Sirius whipped his head towards Remus.

"Are you crazy? They'll kill him! You can't trust a Slytherin, Moony! You just can't!" Sirius seemed adamant about that fact, but Remus just shook his head.

"I trust him to make his own decisions, Padfoot, and you should too." Sirius looked a bit downcast at that – much like a kicked puppy – making Remus smile. "But if you really want to take some extra precautions then I don't see anything wrong with dropping by Hogwarts in a couple of days and wa-" Remus didn't get to finish his sentence as Sirius pounced on him, successfully pinning him to the recliner.

"You mean it, Moony? We can really go visit Harry?" Remus chuckled at his best friend's excited tone.

"Yes, I mean it. We'll leave for Hogwarts first thing on Friday."

Bottom of Form


	4. Chapter Four

_**Author's Note:**__ I love it when people flame my stories, telling me that I'm too illiterate to be writing on here, while spelling every other word wrong. It just brightens my day. How about you? Also, the romance should start around chapter ten. I'm not quite sure, but that sounds about right. Sorry if I'm off. I'll try to keep you entertained until then though. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Mine? Seriously? Right…_

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash._

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry looked at Buckbeak with a soft smile. The old Hippogriff was just what the doctor ordered. Dinner had just ended, his homework was near finished, and he still had an hour until detention. All Harry wanted to do was fly. Sure, it would have been easier to simply retrieve his Firebolt and head to the Quidditch Pitch, but soaring through the air, bareback on Buckbeak just felt so much more invigorating. One could never understand just how artificial a broomstick was unless they understood magic, and the only one besides Hermione and he that understood was Ollivander. Then again, how could a wand maker not understand? Ollivander was the only other wizard that Harry knew with pure magic. Of course, the wand maker hadn't been born with pure magic like Harry had. In all actuality, the old man had found Harry's situation peculiar. Ollivander hadn't nullified his magic until he was fifty-seven. It usually took seventeen to nineteen years for pure magic to fully take effect. By 'take effect' Harry meant that the magic completed the body, eliminating the effects of time itself. Basically, it meant that if Harry didn't choose a side soon, he would become immortal.

When a wizard is born, they have a magical core. Every magical core is made up of pure magic, which keeps the wizard alive. Impure magic forms at birth, depending on the surrounding environment and the personality in which the wizard takes. The body itself has pure magic sown into it, as all bodies do. As the impure magic eats away at the pure magical core, the magical core pulls more pure magic from the body, which results in what most people call 'aging.' Harry was just glad that he had met Ollivander to find this out. Ollivander was just as happy, as he had never met another pure wizard in all of his three hundred and sum years of living. The only reason that Ollivander knew was because of books which he had found throughout the years. Harry enjoyed visiting the man as often as he could. Emerald green eyes opened to see the world rushing by. A soft, joyful laugh escaped Harry's throat as he leaned forward, uncurling and re-curling his hands in Buckbeak's fur. The wind ruffled his hair like a million little hands caressing him, pushing at him. Harry leaned forward until his head was next to Buckbeaks, until he wasn't sure whether the wind was flying past him or he was flying past the wind. Buckbeak dove down, pulling up just before hitting the ground, a Wronski Feint in its own right. Again, Harry laughed, fully aware that his time in the sky was running out. Minutes later, Buckbeak landed, his paws hitting the ground softly. Harry hugged Buckbeak close, whispering a thanks for the ride, before dismounting. A quick Tempus told him that he had ten minutes to get from the edge of the Forbidden Forest down to the Snape's classroom in the dungeons. That wasn't good. An instant later, Harry was running through the grounds of Hogwarts as fast as he could, thanking Merlin for his Quidditch training. Eleven minutes later, Harry burst through the doors of Professor Snape's classroom.

"You're late, Mr. Potter." Harry frowned in between panting. He had tried so hard, too. "An extra hour for both of you should teach Mr. Potter about punctuality, don't you think?" Ron's mouth went agape as Snape extended their punishment.

"But- but- but _I_ was on time!" Ron's indignant shout earned him a down-the-nose glare from Snape along with three sneered words.

"Make that two." Ron looked ready to protest Snape's words again, but Harry quickly stopped him with an elbow to the stomach. It didn't matter that Harry didn't have much homework left to do; sleep was a necessity. Snape watched them with nearly black eyes. He didn't look amused. "You, Mr. Weasley, are to clean every cauldron in this room until they are spotless. You, Mr. Potter, are to sort every ingredient on that table into their proper containers. I will return at midnight. Am I understood or must I use smaller words so that your small, underdeveloped brains can comprehend my instructions?" Snape's low voice drew out his words, allowing the insult time to sink in. Well, it sunk into Harry. Ron looked as if the Potions Master had just been speaking Latin. Harry quickly nodded, before Ron could do something stupid and get them more time. Snape looked them over once more, giving a last sneer before walking away, his cloak billowing behind him. Ron immediately turned to Harry, his face turning red with anger.

"Why the bloody hell did you hit me! And why'd he give you the easy job!" Harry tried to move past Ron, but the taller boy didn't concede.

"I hit you because you were going to get us stuck here all night, and my job isn't any easier." Once more, Harry tried to move past Ron, but, once more, Ron moved with him.

"If it's not any easier then switch with me!" Ron's already high voice upped half of an octave.

"Ron, you know we can't do that. You don't even know what half of the ingredients are!" All Harry wanted was for Ron to understand so that they could get started. With the many ingredients filling up the tables, Harry would have been extremely lucky to finish by midnight if he had started as soon as he had come in. Ron's light blue eyes darted over to the many tables of assorted items.

"So? I can- can look them up or something!" Harry, seeing that Ron wasn't anywhere near ready to give in, did something that he knew Hermione would be yelling at him for later. Silently, wandlessly, Harry cast the Imperius curse on Ron. It didn't matter that Dumbledore had put up wards against such things. Nothing could stop pure magic. Instantaneously, the light left Ron's eyes, leaving him blank to the world.

"Clean the cauldrons without magic. All of them must be done at least five minutes before midnight." Harry watches without guilt as Ron opens his mouth, as if to say something, before just nodding dumbly and turning to do his job. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't watch to see if he would actually clean. He had no doubts about the power of his magic. Not even Lucius Malfoy would be able to resist if Harry cast the Imperius curse on him, and the Head of the Malfoy House was one of the most willful men that Harry knew. With a sigh, Harry walked over to begin his job.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom watched Harry through the recently discovered link between their minds. Long after Harry had left, a trickle of his magic had remained; magic that Tom was so familiar with. He had always just assumed that it was the natural magic of the earth, but after feeling the young Savior's magic, that was obviously not the case. So he searched his mind, taking only minutes to find the small link. A few moments more and Tom found a way to concentrate both on what Harry was seeing and what was going on around him. He was mildly surprised, but not at all appalled, by Harry's expert use of _Imperio. _Really, the strain it took Harry to control the young Weasley was probably equal to Tom's own. That, and he could feel a larger amount of Harry's magic flowing over him at all times. Still, it wasn't enough. It was like being allowed to taste his main course but not actually eat it, and Tom definitely wanted to eat it. He wanted to devour Harry's magic, surround himself with it until he could no longer tell whether or not the magic was his own. It was just that _addicting_. Of course, it would be his magic. Every follower's magic belonged to him, was his. Soon enough, Harry Potter would be the same. Tom's wine red eyes opened to see Lucius bowing at the entrance of his chambers, waiting for permission to enter. Lucius was completely covered by his usual Deatheater's uniform, but his magical signature gave him away.

"Rise, Lucius, and state your reason for intruding." Tom watched with light amusement as a shiver of pleasure ran down the Malfoy's back. Not even the straightest man could resist his charm. Wizard and Muggle alike fell before him, many times without him needing to lift a finger. Even many, if not all, of his followers had thrown themselves at him at one time or another. If they were good enough, if Tom was bored enough, he would allow them into his bed. Right now, the only one he wanted in his bed was Harry Potter. Physical contact was the best way to feel someone else's magic, and sex was the closest that one could physically get to another person. He was sure that after he had fucked the Potter boy a time or seven that his interests would wear off. By then, the Gryffindor Golden Boy would be nothing more than a sniveling dog, begging for his attention at every turn. Harry would be worth the same as the minions at his feet right then. Tom had little time for spineless imbeciles without a thought of their own. They were useful, yes, but unworthy of his time nonetheless. Harry Potter was nothing special, simply lucky.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but Draco has come up with an exceptional idea that I'm positive you'll be interested to hear." The Malfoy arrogance reared its head as Lucius spoke, making Tom's eyes narrow ever so slightly. Too often, the elder Malfoy tried to overstep his boundaries.

"Are you sure about that, Lucius? Do you really know me so well that you can say whether or not I would enjoy hearing of your son's – who has seen a mere seventeen summers – pathetic scheme?" Tom kept his voice level, calm, as he watched Lucius react. He watched over a half empty glass of red wine as Lucius's magic spiked up in fear. The Malfoy had realized his mistake, but that was a realization that came too late. Tom watched passively as Lucius crumbled back to the floor, back to his proper place at Tom's feet, under a nonverbal _Crucio_. Revolts happened simply because insubordination was not dealt with as soon as it arose. There would be no revolts under the rule of Lord Voldemort. Minutes later, after Tom's sadistic streak was momentarily satisfied, Tom lifted the curse and simply watched the mentally younger male pant on the floor.

"Rise, Lucius, and try again. I am a tolerant man, but not so tolerant that I will waste my precious time while you reel in your ego." Slowly and on unsteady feet, Lucius stood.

"I apologize. Please, forgive me, my Lord." His voice was still hoarse from screaming, but Tom ignored that, favoring to instead watch the smallest of tremors, the fear and pain which Lucius was trying so hard to hide, shake the eldest Malfoy's body.

"One more time, Lucius, and you'll wish that your punishment was a simple Cruciatus Curse." Tom's voice held only boredom, but the threat was not the least bit subtle. Crimson eyes were glaciers of blood, cold and uncaring; malicious and sadistic; the ultimate weapon. Lucius didn't dare look up, for as stupid as the man was when it came to his position in the world, he was extremely smart.

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord." Tom took a second to take in the great Lucius Malfoy groveling at his feet, well aware that the entire world would be doing the same thing in no time flat, before speaking again.

"Continue." It was all Tom had to say for Lucius to do just that, to speak like he hadn't been writhing in pain on the floor mere minutes ago. Tom leaned back marginally in his large, throne-like-chair to listen comfortably, still sipping lightly at his wine.

"Draco has discovered that Mr. Potter may or may not be an," Lucius paused, seeming to search for the correct word, before continuing, "_adequate_ duelist. To test this, as well as help relieve him from the Light's clutches, my son is planning on asking Severus to schedule a dueling tournament. Albus will surely agree, as he trusts Severus completely." A tinge of smugness snuck into Lucius's voice, though Tom was sure that the physically older male didn't notice it. For that reason, the Dark Lord ignored the tone. That, and out of amusement. He had just seen Harry wandlessly cast a perfect Imperius curse. What imbecile suspected Harry to be a bad duelist?

"And who, pray tell, is your son's source?" It was true that Tom had never actually had the pleasure of dueling Harry, but the rest of the world didn't know that. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Harry had dueled Tom at least four times now and had either won or ended it in a draw.

"Ronald Weasley, the boy's best friend. At least, Potter believes that they are best friends. It seems that the young red head has turned on him." Lucius finished with a tone suggesting that this was valuable information, but Tom didn't respond. He left Lucius standing in front of his throne, head bowed in submission, while he thought on the boy. Harry obviously knew of the youngest male Weasley's betrayal, if not about his plans. Tom's newest dog was a bit dense around the edges but certainly not stupid. Still, the chance to witness Harry's magic firsthand once more wasn't an opportunity that Tom was about to pass up.

"Very well then. Proceed." There was no need for Lucius to know that he was completely wrong in his assumptions about Harry Potter, not when Tom could watch his face twist in horror as he found out himself. Tom would have to make sure that Draco would be Harry's first opponent. Lucius would learn his place one way or another; even if that meant throwing his son to the wolves. Nay, the _Gryffindors_. Lucius placed his body on the ground, his face flat against the floor in respect to his Lord, unaware that Tom thought less of Lucius than the dirt he walked on. It didn't matter how hard the pure blood worked. They would never be equals. No one could ever be Tom Marvolo Riddle's equal.

"Thank you, my Lord." Lucius's voice cracked only a little as he finally began to get over his dose of _Crucio_. Tom left Lucius on the ground for a full minute longer, enjoying the sight of what the world considered to be a great man on his hands and knees.

"Rise, Lucius, and leave me." Tom watched as Lucius got to his feet, giving one last bow and a muttered 'Yes, my Lord,' before leaving. Lucius was one of his better bred dogs, but not the best. No, not nearly his best, but there, and Tom was raising even better dogs right then. He supposed his two best, grown dogs were Severus Snape and Rudolphus Lestrange. If he had to choose between the two, Rudolphus would definitely be the one; the man had even kept a close watch on the insane Bellatrix Black under the guise of marriage. The two dogs that he was raising to take their places were Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Really, the Dark Lord was nothing more than an expert breeder, turning the world into well behaved dogs. Tom gave the empty room a pleasured smirk as he leaned almost lazily back into his chair and turned his full attentions back on Harry Potter. Soon, the boy would bend to his will, grovel at his feet, and beg for a second glance, just like the rest of them. He watched the boy work as if he was in the room, leaning languidly against a table which had lost more than half of its ingredients. The boy worked with a certain grace about him that Tom itched to figure out. It wasn't regal like the Malfoy's, but it wasn't plebian like the Weasleys' either.

Harry's posture said that he both respected and discarded himself, as if he cared what happened to himself, but not much. Still, the meticulous way he went through the items on the tables would make Severus proud. He doubted that Draco could have done the same, at least, not to that extent. Tom glanced over at the Weasley boy who sat on the dungeon floor, cleaning the cauldrons like a mindless drone he was. Tom wondered what the great Albus Dumbledore would say if he saw his _Savior_ using an Unforgivable. The old coot probably hadn't even considered that a possibility. In fact, Tom wouldn't be surprised if the man still believed that Tom had used Horcruxes! Using such a thing would have been disgracefully stupid. It was true that it was an accident of nature that his soul had stayed on the earth instead of leaving to whatever plane of existence the deceased went to, but no one other than Tom knew that.

While a wandering soul, Tom had searched, made his temporary bodies search, for a way to stay alive. Eventually, he had found an answer. _Magic_. He found out that magic both allowed wizards and witches to live and killed them. It was all in the magical core, the pure magical core pulling at the stings of pure magic that kept the human body sewed together. Swiftly, he had found a way to change that. He would die because his dark magic wanted to eat away at his pure magical core, so what would happen if his magical core wasn't pure? What if the seems that sewed him together were made of the same magic that his body continuously produced, of _dark _magic? Swiftly, Tom had come up with the correct magical formula to do just that. He had chosen a set age; an age he wouldn't mind being for the rest of all eternity, and gotten Pettigrew to complete the formula. Now, he was unlike any other person on Earth; he was immortal. It was all thanks to his dark magical core, to the dark magic stitching his body together. And then he had laid out clues for Albus to find; to lead the old man to think that he had stupidly, ignorantly, split his soul; into seven pieces, nonetheless! Tom had only half expected the old fool to fall for it. Then again, the spell that he had put on his old journal to project his sixteen year old self had been incredibly convincing.

The mere thought of the old man had Tom's magic lashing out a bit, only enough for Tom to just barely feel. Yet, at that moment, Harry froze. An instant later Tom was looking straight into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. A small frown appeared on Harry's face before Tom felt an incredible force pushing him backwards. Crimson eyes snapped open back in Tom's Throne Room. The magic in the air, the pure, whimsical magic that had been around him ever since he had gotten his body back was suddenly gone, and Tom found it just a bit harder to breath. Quickly, he searched through his mind, trying to find their connection, but it was gone. No, it wasn't gone, simply closed. Harry had blocked him out. That could only mean that the young Potter was a skilled Occlumens. Did he have Legilimens skills to match? It was an unexpected twist that Tom was none too fond of. The magic; Harry's magic, _his_ magic was gone from the world around him, and Tom didn't like it; not one little bit. With a sneer, Tom leaned back. It would take days for them to set up the tournament; at least two. Which meant that the tournament could be held on Friday, if they started now. Tournaments had spectators, didn't they? Tom's sneer flipped to a devious smirk as he drained the last of his wine from the crystal goblet. If Harry thought that he had escaped, he was dead wrong.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry continued to put away ingredients at a faster pace. He only had two hours left and was less than halfway done. Besides, his little visit from Voldemort hadn't helped at all. It seemed as though the immortal man had finally caught on to their connection. That saddened Harry as it meant that his nightly visits were over. He could no longer enjoy watching Voldemort dominate the lands or simply sit back in his throne and drink. More than that, Harry could no longer feel Voldemort's dark, almost overpowering magic in the air. The heavy sensation of Voldemort's magic, like an extreme hot and an extreme cold mixing without turning to simple warmth, was gone. It had been a part of Harry's daily life for seven years now. To be without it just felt wrong.

Still, it had to be done. He couldn't let Voldemort see what his everyday life was like, what his thoughts on the war were. For all Harry knew, Voldemort had figured out what Harry couldn't: how to use the connection without sleeping. All in all, Harry was just glad he had found Voldemort when he had. He had felt the magic flow through more easily a few hours ago, but Harry hadn't suspected that the Dark Lord had found a way through. He hadn't suspected it until he had felt the magic fluctuate. If there was one thing that Voldemort's magic had never done before, it was fluctuate. Magic could only do so around the person whom it belonged to. There was no way that it could do so without a subconscious command, especially not so far from its master. Harry's hand reached forward to grab at air. Green eyes glanced up in surprise. He was finished? Harry fully lifted his head, looking around this time. He was finished. A quick Tempus Charm told Harry that he had only seven minutes left until midnight. As soon as the magical numbers faded from the air, Harry glanced over at Ron. The boy was standing dumbly next to the now clean cauldrons.

"Come here." Ron's vacant eyes blinked as he followed Harry's command. As soon as Ron reached the spot in front of Harry, Harry walked over to where Ron had been standing and effortlessly lifted the curse.

"Why shouldn't we switch! That Slimy Git doesn't have to know!" Ron shouted while looking around, trying to spot Harry. When blue eyes finally met green, Harry forced himself to look confused.

"We did switch, Ron, and you were right. You did it a lot better than I could have." Harry's soft voice travelled throughout the room, and, once again, Ron looked around the room. Slowly, s smug smirk made its way to Ron's face.

"Yeah… Yeah! I told you so! And I didn't even have to think about what I was doing! Ha, I bet you feel pretty stupid now…" As Ron finished his little speech, Harry had to fight back a chuckle. If there was one thing that Harry didn't feel, it was stupid. The green eyed male didn't have to answer as the double doors slammed open, Snape appearing in their place. The professor surveyed the room, eyes narrowing slightly as he saw the boys on the opposite ends of the room that they were supposed to be. Harry just tossed out a nervous smile. Snape's eyes narrowed even more at the small gesture, but no other reaction was given.

"Everything seems to be in order… Very well then; go." Ron didn't waste time, darting from the room the minute Snape finished his sentence. Harry walked out at a much more leisure pace, already dreaming of his nice, warm bed.

**(***Narcissa Malfoy***)**

"Our son? What do you mean our son?" Narcissa was not happy. How could Lucius even so much as_ think_ about offering their _son_ to the Dark Lord?

"I mean exactly what I said, Narcissa. We cannot deny the Dark Lord what he wants, and I'm nearly positive that he wants Draco." Lucius sounded almost excited at the prospect of giving up their son to the other man. Narcissa's left hand curled into a fist with almost enough force for her fingernails to draw blood. She hated it when Lucius did that: pushed aside the good of their family for a promise of wealth and power. The man that she had married had been so much kinder, cared so much more…

"You can't do that, Lucius. I won't let-" A sharp smack had Narcissa's head snapping to the left, her face bleeding lightly from where the Malfoy family ring had scraped across pale skin.

"You can do _nothing_! If the Dark Lord desires Draco then he will get Draco. If you stand in his way then he will kill you. Those are the facts, Narcissa. The sooner you learn that, the better." His cold tone made Narcissa snarl and stand, her hand wrapping coolly around her wand as she positioned it at her husband's neck.

"Then he can step over my dead body. I may have entrusted our son to Severus, but Severus is the only one. Now get out of my sights before I do something that you'll regret." Lucius's silver-grey eyes narrowed in silent fury before he gave a stiff nod and turned to walk in the other direction. As the large, marvelously carved door slammed shut, Narcissa allowed her weakness to show. She shook lightly as she tried to uncurl her hand, which had been gripping at her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white, but she couldn't find it in herself to do it. If Lucius decided to walk back in then she had to be on her guard. Narcissa had tried to make their marriage work; she really had, but it was getting to be too much.

If the Dark Lord really did want her son, and Lucius was willing to, when it came down to it, give her son to the man, then Narcissa was prepared to leave. She would pack her things, get Draco, and walk out the door. Sirius would welcome her, and she believed that Remus would do the same. She smiled a little at the thought of the werewolf. The man was much like Lucius had been during their private moments, just after they had fallen in love. Lucius had been gentle, kind, and compassionate, at least to her. Sure, she had wished that he would show that to the rest of the world, let them know that he cared, but he hadn't. And now it was ending. Yet she wasn't going to allow herself to play the victim in all of this. She had a son to take care of, and nothing would stand in the way of that.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione sat in the library with her new favorite book, completely lost in its many entrancing pages. She had skipped breakfast to get another look at it, not trusting Ron with his food. Hermione looked up only when she felt a presence beside her, right after finishing the paragraph, of course. The moment she looked up, her pretty brown eyes met with Blaise's. His eyes were so dark a brown that they were nearly black. Or maybe they were black? Hermione had never looked close enough to really notice before. Out of her periphial vision, Hermione saw a soft smirk make its way to Blaise's lips. She blushed, realizing that she had been staring, before glancing away.

"Um, hullo, Zabini." Why was he here?

"Please, _Hermione_, call me Blaise." Blaise said Hermione's name as if he were tasting it on his tongue, seeing if he liked how it sounded. To Hermione, the only word that could describe it was _sensual_. A shiver of pleasure shot down her spine.

"But- Harry doesn't even call you Blaise, and he's much closer to you than I-" Blaise cut her off without hesitation, but Hermione couldn't find it in herself to reprimand him as she would have Ron.

"Our relationship is much too…formal for that. Besides, Potter isn't a lovely young maiden." His smirk widened just a bit, drawing Hermione's eyes down to his lips once more. Quickly, she snapped her eyes upwards once more, hoping to Merlin that he hadn't noticed.

"Oh, well, um, Blaise it is then! So… is there something I can help you with?" Hermione bit her bottom lip, inevitably drawing it into her mouth. Why in the world was she so nervous around him? His dark, beautiful eyes traveled down to her lips, and then to her neck line, before making a slow journey back up to her eyes.

"No, not yet." And then he stood, just like that, and sauntered out the door. Hermione blinked in confusion, her book forgotten on the table. What was that about? Swiftly, she pushed the book into her shoulder bag, hoping that the heat would leave her face by the time she got to the dungeons.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

The first thing that Harry noticed as he walked into Professor Snape's classroom was Hermione with her nose buried in a book; literally. Harry couldn't see Hermione through the book which was pressed against the skin of her face. With an odd smile, Harry sat his things down beside of her and took a seat.

"Hermione?" He questioned, only a little concerned.

"Yes, Harry?" Her words were muffled by the large potions book (_Advanced Potions for the Experimental Wizard: Volume 7_) but just barely.

"Why are you hiding behind your book?" He thought it was a fairly reasonable question.

"I'm not!" Hermione's words, still muffled by the book, told him that she didn't share his sentiments.

"I believe that you are, actually." Harry smiled while saying this, thoroughly enjoying their conversation. Hermione lowered her book faster than Harry could say 'Merlin,' and shot Harry a glare.

"No! I'm-" Hermione's glare turned soft as her eyes darted to the side where movement could be seen. Quickly, he face was back in the book. Harry looked to where she had glanced, his smile growing wider as he spotted a nonchalant Blaise Zabini speaking in soft tones to Draco Malfoy. The Italian's dark eyes glanced over at the hidden Hermione before travelling over to Harry. The glint that the elder boy's eyes had gained when on Hermione, the same glint that they had gotten since the beginning of second semester their Fourth year, told Harry that he was the reason for her hiding in the book. It was the same caring, wanting glint that Harry hoped that someone would hold for him one day. Harry tossed Blaise a quick smile before leaning down to Hermione's ear, the only thing not hidden by her Potions book.

"Blaise Zabini?" She gave a small noise in response to his question-like statement and confirmed his suspicions completely. "I thought you didn't like anyone." The book slammed onto the desk, Hermione's face aflame underneath.

"_Harry James Potter_!" If the book slam hadn't gotten the rest of the room's attention then that shout had. Harry's smile didn't drop, or even waver.

"Yes?" She shot him a glare at his unconcerned answer.

"You stop it right now or I swear to Merlin that I will throw you to Voldemort myself!" A few people in the room gasped at the use of Voldemort's name, but Harry just kept smiling.

"It's not my fault you're so obvious about your crushes." He offered a small shrug and, just before she could snarl out a response, the doors banged open. Harry glanced up to see Snape looking at them in distaste.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape questioned as if they were purposefully wasting his time. Who knew, maybe they were? By this time, Harry couldn't tell whether her blush was from embarrassment or anger.

"No, Sir." Her head was down, but her eyes were still glaring at Harry. "Very well." And he continued to the front of the room, just like that; no point deduction, no anything! Harry leaned towards Hermione and whispered something, just before Snape turned around.

"Has he snogged you yet?" The words were so quiet that Harry hardly heard them himself, but he was sure that Hermione had by her next action. Quicker than Harry was sure even Voldemort could have, she stood, slamming her hands onto the desk.

"_Harry_!" Under the weight of both Hermione and Snape's glares, Harry began to laugh.

**(***Severus Snape***)**

Severus watched the two Gryffindors with his coldest glare. Granger looked simply appalled at her own actions while Potter continued to laugh. The Potions Master opened his mouth to snap at them when someone else's, much happier, voice beat him to it.

"Ah, the joys of potion making. Is it always this fun in here, Severus?" Dumbledore's light laugh followed his words, making Severus's mouth snap shut. In an instant, he was sneering.

"I'm afraid not." What did the old fool want _now_?

"That's too bad then, isn't it?" The Headmaster didn't sound disappointed at all. "I just wanted to speak to you about that marvelous idea you had this morning." Snape cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly at his words. So soon? "You see, children, your Potions Professor has proposed we have a duel, this Friday, to make sure that you're all prepared for anything that life may throw at you." His jolly tone had Severus's sneer deepening.

"Um, Professor?" Potter's nearly shy voice questioned.

"Yes, my boy?" The old man asked, turning his twinkling blue eyes in the direction of what was supposed to be their Savior, his much-too-long white beard turning with him. Half-moon spectacles reflected what little light was in the room, giving him the looks of a cheery old man. Severus wasn't fooled.

"Is competing mandatory? Because dueling isn't exactly my best subject, if you know what I mean…" Potter gave a disturbingly soft smile, one that Severus may have fallen for if he hadn't known the boy's father or how the last Potter child was pampered at every turn by both his muggle relatives and the rest of the Wizarding World. Harry James Potter was nothing but a spoiled brat as far as he was concerned. Some would argue that Draco was the exact same, but Severyus knew better; knew that the boy had hopes and dreams that surpassed the expectations of others by far. Draco was, by no means, a stupid child. The Headmaster gave a small chuckle.

"I'm afraid it is, my boy, you of all people should know the importance of being kept on your toes. But you mustn't worry about such trivial matters. It will begin for all Seventh year potions students as well as others who would simply enjoy participating and will begin just after dinner." Without another word, Albus turned to leave. Thank Merlin. Just as he put his hand on the door, he turned his head. "Oh, and one more thing," his jolly smile turned back around to face the students, eyes twinkling as if trying to put the stars in the sky to shame, "have fun." A nice, happy chuckle followed the old man out of the room. Severus glared hard enough at the door that he thought – hoped, really – that holes would be burned right through it. All of the children burst into excited – or not so excited, in some cases – chatter. Said chatter grated on Severus's nerves like nothing else. Why had he agreed to become a teacher, again? Not actually wanting to remember the answer, Severus turned his glare on the students.

"I realize that all of this excitement is probably overloading your useless little minds, but the next person who says a word can write themselves up for double detention with Mr. Filch tonight." The class went completely, blissfully, silent. "Now that we have only an hour and ten minutes left, you have no time to waste." With a swish of his wand, the instructions for their next potion was put onto the board. It would take approximately an hour and seven minutes to brew. They had better get working.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione watched Harry as they walked to Advanced Transfiguration of the Human Body with worried brown eyes. She knew why he didn't want to duel. If people saw him duel then they'd look at him with the same fear in their eyes as they did whenever they got a glance of Voldemort. They would see how powerful Harry was, how much control he had over his body, and they would cower. If Hermione didn't know Harry as well as she did, how insecure he actually was on the inside, then she would probably cower, too.

"It'll be fine. You can just let the first person beat you. No one will think anything of it." Hermione knew this was a bad plan even as she said it, but she had to try.

"No, Hermione. If I flunk this then people will panic; millions of people will panic. It'll be absolute chaos, and I just couldn't do that." She knew that. She knew that even before he said it. He was just too kind. They would look to him for protection and then, once his duty had been done, they would banish him. She looked at his downcast eyes sadly. They would banish him if he were lucky. "Hermione, you'll still take Joshua, right? Even without him?" Hermione knew that Harry was, even now, in his darkest hours, worrying about others, and that only made things worse. He would be so much easier to lose if he was a horrible, rude man. The youngest Granger squeezed her eyes shut as she sat down. If he were different, then the circumstances would be different, but wasn't, and they weren't. Why did the worst things always have to happen to the best people? Why did the worst things always have to happen to _Harry_?

"I will." Hermione paused for a moment, glancing around the empty room. "So, you're really going to go through with this? You can't just… I don't know! Get sick or something?" Hermione was trying; really she was. By the sad smile on Harry's face, he knew it, too.

"No, Hermione. Look, just, don't worry about it, okay?" Hermione hated the comforting tone of his voice; hated the fact that he was calming her nerves even now, even when she couldn't do anywhere near the same thing for him. At that moment, Voldemort, in all of his beautifully handsome glory, flashed through her mind. Maybe they would get lucky, and he would change his mind about killing Harry. She was being stupid, she knew, but it was all she could think of.

"Oh, Harry. We both know that there's no way I'm going to stop worrying about it, but I'll stop talking about it if you'd like, alright?" His green eyes lit up and darkened at the same time, showing his unease and grateful attitude simultaneously.

"I think that I can live with that."


	5. Chapter Five

_**Author's Note:**____I went to the beach and broke my laptop. It isn't fixed, but __**.x.X..x.X.x.**__ gave me the extra push I needed to write this anyways. Thanks. _

_**Disclaimer:**____Yes. No. Maybe so. What's the answer? You'll never know! (The answer's no.)_

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. _

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron sat in his Divination: The Final Chapter class with a scowl. Sure, he would get the duel with Harry in front of tons of people and undoubtedly kick his arse, but what if Hermione still felt sympathy for Harry after that? What if she didn't realize that she loved Ron until it was too late? What if she realized it after Harry got her pregnant. His face twisted a bit more at that. No. That wouldn't happen. Harry probably couldn't even get it up, anyhow. He was just that stupid. Yet Ron was the Hermione-less one right now while Harry got to sit beside her and Transfigure things. He hadn't taken the class because he had been Transfigured into a dung beetle for three whole days last year because no one could find him. After that, he had sworn off of Transfiguring.

"And what do you see?" Miss Trelawny, with her huge glasses and to small face, was right next to Ron. He glanced up from the tea cup that he'd been glaring into to see the whole class staring at him.

"Um, death?" Predicting bad things always got him good grades. She gasped, quickly snatching up his cup to see for herself.

"Oh, my… You are in terrible danger!" She looked up at him, her eyes seeming ten times bigger than they really were under her too-large spectacles, before slowly setting his cup down. "We are all in terrible danger!" The small woman scurried around the room, picking up every cup and going faster every time. As she looked into the final cup, her body went rigid. The small glass fell from her hands almost in slow motion, crashing to the ground and splashing the tea leaves on the hardwood floors. She slowly raised her head, eyes looking fearfully at Ron. Red orange hair stuck out at every angle, curly and fluffy and unkempt. She looked less like a madwoman and more like a grieving widow when she stared like that. Slowly, voice trembling, she spoke.

"What have you _done_?"

**(***Bellatrix Black***)**

She hated the name Lestrange. She hated having to pretend to be married to a Lestrange. Yet, it was what her master wished of her, and she would do anything to please him. So there she sat, next to Rodolphus Lestrange, watching him read a book. She didn't care that he had saved her from Askaban! Surely the Dementors would be more fun than him!

"We should-"

"No." It was a simple cut off that had Bellatrix brooding all over again. He hadn't even listened to what she wanted to do! So, as her pout turned into a slightly less than sane grin, she continued.

"We should go see the-" Again, without looking up from his book, Rodolphus cut her off.

"No." Bellatrix paused, her lips pursing into a straight line. She didn't care that he had an amazing body. She didn't care about the way that his perfectly kempt hair was tied to the name of his neck with a small black ribbon, making him look regal. She didn't care about the way that his chocolate brown eyes swept uncaringly over the pages. She didn't care that he was seemingly ignoring her, even though she knew that he was acutely aware of her every move. He was the perfect pure blood, next to the Dark Lord, of course, and she didn't care. All she cared about at the moment was becoming close to her lord once more. And her lord was going to that tournament. She wanted to go to the tournament. Again, her face was overtaken by a grin. Bellatrix wanted to go, so go she would. Whether Rodolphus liked it or not. Under the watchful not-gaze of Rodolphus, Bellatrix broke into a stream of insane giggles which would have sent cold chills up any sane man's spine. Rodolphus didn't even blink.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Advanced Transfiguration of the Human Body was much harder than Harry had expected, but not so hard that he actually struggled, like the rest of the class was doing at that very moment. Hermione chanced a glance over at him.

"You're finished already?" Green eyes glanced down at Hermione's quiet inquisition, landing easily on his now transfigured hands.

"I believe so, yes." Magic had always come easily to him.

"Mr. Potter. Do you really believe that you have completed the task already?" Professor McGonagall's tight voice sounded from the front of the room. Harry held up his claws before nodding and repeating his earlier statement.

"I believe so, yes." His voice, apparently, had carried throughout the room, catching the other students' (Ravenclaws and Gryffindors) attention. The Ravenclaws seemed torn between glaring jealously and asking for help while the Gryffindors held their heads up in pride, chalking up Harry's accomplishment as a win for the House. She narrowed her eyes in his direction, before giving the smallest of smiles and a nod.

"Very well then, perhaps you would like to help the rest of the class?" Harry smiled at her not-so-subtle question, giving a small nod before standing. The first thing he did was turn to Hermione.

"Pick an animal you like. It's the only way thast this'll work. Remember, it isn't like an Animagus form. You have control over this. People can only willing turn into something that they're fond of. Otherwise, your body will fight against it. At least, until you mater the art of Transfiguration it will. Alright?" Sparkling brown eyes widened in realization.

"Thank you, Harry!" Immediately, Hermione's attention turned back to her hands, her magic. Harry turned to the rest of the class, spotting a rather large Ravenclaw girl with her hand shyly in the air. Harry walked over to her, ignoring the eyes on his back, ignoring the eyes on his claws as they changed back into hands. He could have easily made a quick transition, but then McGonagall would have been suspicious. Transitions, both to and from the original form, were the hard part, not actually keeping whatever creature's figure you were going for. The class drug on, some people catching on, others... not so much. Either way, Harry was having fun. He loved helping people. By the end of class, Harry was sure that nothing could ruin his day. And then he ran into Ron. Literally.

"What is wrong with you!" Ron didn't sound happy.

"Nothing. Sorry. I dazed." Harry quickly tried to make amends, knowing that the red head would make a scene. His seemingly sincere apology did nothing as said red head continued as if Harry had said nothing and, of course, made a scene.

"You bloody dazed! How are you going the defeat You-Know-Who if you can't even walk down a bloody hallway? You're not! Why don't you just give up and leave the job to someone who actually stands a chance already?" Ron sneered down his nose at Harry, having no idea that he just looked stupid. Seriously; Harry had withstood the glare of Voldemort. What made Ron think he was any scarier? Still, Harry wasn't too fond of including himself in Ron's little spectacle.

"Ron, I said I was-"

"He's right, Potter. You should just give up now. Or give in, even. I'm sure the Dark Lord would welcome you if you begged on your hands and knees for a couple of hours." Pansy Parkinson interrupted. Green eyes turned to glare at the small, brunette girl. It seemed that she had lost quite a bit of weight over the summer. If there was one thing that he would never do, it was grovel.

"You would know, wouldn't you? I bet you've had plenty of practice on your hands and knees." The insult could be taken a million ways and Harry knew it. Draco, who would usually step in right about now, simply leaned against the stone wall and watched in amusement as Parkinson, like a true Slytherin, tossed Harry a smirk.

"Not as much as you, I bet." Her words held a sexual innuendo, one that could be taken no other way. Harry didn't have to force the smirk which appeared on his face as he fell into his normal banter with the Slytherins. Confidently, he took a step closer.

"You'll never know." Harry's voice was sultry, insinuating exactly what she accused.

"You're a bloody fag!" Ron's disbelieving voice broke the metaphorical spell that their banter had cast. Harry turned to Ron and coolly cocked a brow. He didn't bother correcting Ron by telling him that the Boy-Who-Lived was basically nonsexual. He had never held an interest beyond friendship before, or even the urge to jack off! Still, there was no need for Ron to know that. He would be spreading the rumors either way.

"Aren't Fred and George gay?" Surely he didn't condemn his brothers. They weren't with each other, but they were gay. The twins had never had enough narcissism in them to find each other sexually attractive. Ron's lips turned downward in a frown.

"They're not gay. They're just…confused. No Weasley is _gay_." He looked as if he would gag on the word, as if it were contagious. Harry simply shrugged.

"It's a possibility." It was a very strong possibility that the twins insisted was true. Molly and Arthur accepted their sons' sexuality with love and understanding, just as Harry had done. The twins were his friends, no matter their orientation. Percy had been appalled, completely cutting himself off by them while Bill had thrown them a party. He always believed in being true to yourself, no matter what. Oh, and he had made a bet with Fleur the year before. She had made him a very happy husband that night as she made good on her part of the bargain. Ron scrunched his nose up in disgust.

"No it isn't! So are you a fag or what?" It was apparent that Ron wasn't going to be deterred. Harry gave a glance at his now captive audience, which he noticed that Blaise had joined at some time or another. Merlin, why hadn't he just agreed to go to the library with Hermione instead of travelling on his own to lunch? Which Harry still hadn't gotten to, much to his dismay. Harry have a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm not really sure. Maybe." Without waiting for Ron to sputter out a response, Harry walked around him and towards the Great Hall. Quickly, the Three Slytherins caught up to him.

"Wouldn't _Witch Weekly_ love to hear about that? I can see it now! The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Be-Gay! They would have a ball!" Pansy sneered at Harry, only getting a cocked brow in response.

"I said that I wasn't sure. Wouldn't that make me The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Be-Bi? Or confused. Either of those would be true and the press would still have fun. You might as well make it true so that I don't have to discredit you." He would get over whatever the press had to say. The Pure Bloods were much more vulnerable to hurtful words. Or maybe they were less vulnerable? Harry wasn't sure. He had never been a Pure Blood before…

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Potter was bi? That was a new twist. He had always assumed that the obnoxious boy was with the Weaslett. It didn't really matter that Potter was bi; he was still the same obnoxious, cocky boy who had been pampered by his muggle family because he had magic and then pampered by the rest of the wizarding world because he had somehow managed to survive the killing curse. Perhaps he had just decided to become bi to appeal to the public. He wanted to be loved by all, in all ways. With a small sneer, the youngest Malfoy admitted, if only to himself, that he was impressed.

"Why did you say that with us there? You could have easily lied, and we wouldn't have thought otherwise." Blaise, always the logical one, which Draco thanked Merlin for. He was too analytical to keep questioning after one interesting answer popped up. Potter simply smiled at the question.

"Because I have a feeling we'll soon be hanging out quite a bit more, and my instincts have never been wrong before." With those words, Potter left them standing outside of the Great Hall, pondering over his words.

"Do you think he knows?" Pansy's hushed voice questioned him frantically. Her short brown hair moved with her as she looked between Draco and Blaise, light brown eyes widening just a bit. It was almost surprising how many emotions she showed when others weren't around. Blaise's dark eyes held a thoughtful look for a moment before becoming unreadable once more.

"No. Potter's just… Potter. It could just as easily be him trusting his instincts as it could be the fact that I'm pursuing Hermione. You can't tell with him." Blaise seemed to be finished, but Pansy certainly wasn't.

"You're what?" Pansy's tone was blank, showing that it would take a bit more time and explaining for her to fully comprehend one of her best friends going after the Granger girl. If Draco hadn't seen the signs beforehand, he'd probably have had the same reaction himself. With a quick glance at the closed doors of the Great Hall, Draco turned towards the dungeons and began to walk. They needed to talk.

**(***Sirius Black***)**

Sirius was nearly bouncing around the room, loving the fact that in a day and a half he would see his Godson again! Oh, this was amazing!

"Sirius, calm down." Remus's soft voice was lightly reprimanding, but held no anger. Serious just gave a wild grin. He had shaved, brushed his hair, brushed his teeth, the entire morning routine, six times now. He was just so excited that he couldn't think of anything else to do!

"I can't calm down, Moony! We're going to see Harry!" Sirius had the incredible urge to break into a series of summersaults. And he would go through with that urge, too, if he knew how to do a summersault, that was. Yes, that would definitely help. He grinned as Moony set the table for dinner. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place hadn't been the ideal place for them to live, but there had been nowhere else. If it weren't for the fact that only someone with the blood of a Black could own the place, he would have given it to Moony and been rid of it. Yes, Remus was a completely different story than Sirius. He absolutely loved the house. Even Kreacher had taken a liking to the wolf, which was strange considering that he was about as far away from being a Pure Blood as one could get while still being a wizard, but oh well. Whatever floated his boat, right? The dishes stopped clattering for a moment, making Serious turn towards his best friend. Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Moony?" Remus had that look on his face, that worried, thoughtful look that never meant anything good for Sirius.

"I think… I think we need to see the Malfoys once more, before Harry." Steely grey eyes widened. He _what_ now? Was Remus coming down with something? Like, oh, say, The _Crazies_! Why would they go and willingly see the _Malfoys_? They were a bunch of soul-sucking Pure Bloods bent on world domination!

"Why? Have you lost your mind!" Sirius wouldn't go see them if Remus begged.

"Because where they are, Voldemort is sure to be. Even if he's not there, they'll know where he is." Okay. Remus didn't want to see the Malfoys. He wanted to see Voldemort. Sirius couldn't decide which one of those was worse. Quickly, Sirius flipped over the couch and ran to Remus, putting the inside of his wrist to the werewolf's forehead.

"You don't feel sick. Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?" Sirius thrust three fingers up against Remus's nose. The younger man gave an almost chuckle before shoving the fingers away.

"I'm not sick, Siri. But, if Harry makes a decision to follow him, I want to know it's the right decision. I want to see him first." Remus had a determined tone to his voice that Sirius knew from experience that he couldn't ague with. With another sigh, this time of defeat, Sirius looked into Remus's eyes.

"When?" Remus gave a soft smile at his obvious victory before responding.

"Tomorrow afternoon, do you think Narcissa would mind having us over for lunch?" It wasn't a serious question, but it still brought Sirius's distant cousin to mind. She wouldn't deny them access, but he didn't think that she would lead them straight to the Dark Lord. She had too much of a heart to do that. Well, if she was still the cousin that he had sort-of known and sort-of liked then she did. Then again, she had spent the last seventeen years surrounded by Malfoys. Who knew what they had done to her mind in that time? With a role of his eyes, Sirius sat down at the dinner table. If Remus insisted on dragging him to his doom, then Sirius insisted on having fun while doing it.

"Hey, Remy?" Remus turned, the shock in his eyes most likely forming because of the seriousness that Sirius had said his nickname, though not his usual nickname, with.

"Yes, Sirius?" Remus spoke as if Sirius had been the one to suggest that they go met Voldemort: with complete confusion. With a voice that suggested complete seriousness, the Animagus inquired:

"Do you think they'd still take us to see old Voldy if I turn Malfoy's hair pink?" Remus's soft laughter followed the question, echoing throughout the large house.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione looked around the sleeping dorm room unsurely. She was unsure because it wasn't her dorm room. It wasn't even a Gryffindor dorm room! She was abusing her power as Head Girl and felt horrible for doing so, but it was necessary. If it weren't for her years of rule breaking with Harry, she probably wouldn't have even been able to work up the nerve to do it. In moments, she reached her destination: Blaise Zabini's bed. With Blaise Zabini in it. Quietly, she reached out to shake him awake. A tanned hand grasped her wrist before she could grasp his shoulder. With a quick tug, Hermione was suddenly in the bed, under the covers, under a toned, nearly naked Italian. A warm hand covered her mouth before she could make a noise. How had he _done_ that? He was pressed close to her, close enough for her to feel every muscle in his body, at least, the muscles that her shorter body could reach. His long legs pinned her own and she felt something hard pressing against her lower abdomen. In the back of her mind, she thanked Merlin for boxers. A dark brow rose in question.

"Is there something you needed at, what time is it?" Hermione smiled sheepishly at the question, keeping her eyes on the ceiling above his head as she answered.

"It's around one in the morning, but um, listen. I didn't mean to- I just- Um, I needed to talk to you in private." Her voice was less than a whisper, but she was sure that he had heard. His hair may still be mussed up – looking increasingly like he had just had a good shag with each moment that Hermione tried, and failed, not to look at him – but his eyes were as sharp as ever. With a small, confident smirk, Blaise nodded. Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew that the smirk had meant that Blaise had come up with some sort of plan or scheme or something of the like. Fred and George had always said that Gryffindors planned, Slytherins schemed, Ravenclaws plotted, and Hufflepuffs tried to figure out which side to choose because they were too loyal to change if things went south.

Blaise stood, getting out of the bed as silently as he had pulled Hermione in. He walked across the floor without making a single sound; gaining the envy and admiration of Hermione. It had taken her twenty minutes to get across the room! As he reached the door that would lead to the Slytherin Common Rooms, he glanced back at Hermione, still lying in his bed. Blushing, Hermione started to scramble to get out of the soft, entirely too comfortable bed; started and then stopped. She had to be quiet! Slowly, she untangled herself from his covers and crept over to him, freezing up every time someone stirred in their slumber. She swore to Merlin that if it weren't for her fear of waking up the rest of the snakes, she'd have wiped that smugly amused look right off of his face. Once they had gotten out of the dorm room, the rest of the trip out of the snake pit was easy. Finally, as they got out from behind the sleeping portrait which guarded the Slytherin dormitory, Hermione allowed herself to sigh and slump against the wall.

"Well?" His voice held a bored impatience to it that Hermione was sure wouldn't be there if he didn't want it to be. She lifted her head to glare at him, immediately regretting it. He looked like one of those foreign underwear models that the muggles she had grown up with were always pinning to their walls and fawning over. His cool, calculating gaze made her feel as if he had somehow taken her clothes and discarded them to the same place that his own had gone.

"Um, I just, I'm sorry but-" Her eyes travelled down his body against her will and she quickly forced them away, away to the cold dungeon wall she was currently leaning against with a blush. The next thing she knew, warm fingers were curled under her chin, lifting her head to look into beautiful dark eyes. The smirk on his perfect lips didn't escape her peripheral vision either.

"You woke me up from a particularly good dream, Hermione. I can't be blamed for the," Blaise pressed himself closer, pressed his hard length against her, "_affects_ it's had on my body. Now, what is it you disturbed my _wondrous_ dream fo-" Hermione closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the sexual temptation that his voice continued to present before interrupting him.

"Harry needs your help!" The words came out in a rushed whisper that Hermione herself had trouble understanding, but, as she cracked one eye open, Hermione knew that Blaise had gotten the message. His incredibly dark brown eyes had gained a glint of malice, a glint that blinked out of existence the moment that Hermione spotted it.

"You woke me up for _Potter_?" He sounded less than happy, and Hermione rushed to explain.

"The duel that's going to happen on Friday, you can't judge Harry for it. Try to convince the other Slytherins to do the same." Hermione pleaded with him, hands gripping his shoulders lightly. Blaise looked at her with only slight confusion.

"He's really _that_ bad at-"

"No. No, no, no! He's amazing at dueling, better than anyone you've ever seen; maybe even better than Voldemort! And people will hate him for that. Just listen to me for a moment, Blaise. If you have to face him, throw a curse or two and back down. Because you don't stand a chance. No one does." Hermione had tears in her eyes as she warned him. There was no reason for her to be so emotional; to warn him; to do any of this, but she had. Hermione liked Blaise. If she was being truthful with herself, she had liked Blaise for a long time now. He looked her in the eyes, wiping a tear away before it truly got the chance to fall. Lightly, their foreheads touched.

"You know, I don't think that Draco will give into your plan as easily as I am." Hermione couldn't help the laugh that bubbled its way out of her throat at his acceptance of her warning.

"I don't expect him to." And then his lips were on hers. They moved together, his far more expertly than hers, but she still put what little experience she had to good use. The few make-out sessions she'd had with Viktor came in handy after all. His tongue prodded her mouth in such a dominantly gentle way that Hermione didn't even have the chance to think about whether or not she would accept him. Her mind went completely blank. Slender hands gripped tightly at his shoulders as his hands slid down to her waist, wrapping around to pull her closer. Minutes passed before her breath ran out, forcing her to pull away. She felt dazed as the air rushed back into her lungs. That had been phenomenal.

"I'm glad you liked it." Blaise's sultry voice slipped through her hazy train of thought as he kissed at her neck. Had she said that out loud? He gave a soft chuckle against her neck before nipping, forcing Hermione to suck in a gasp. "Yes, _Hermione_, you spoke aloud." His accent wrapped around Hermione's name like the finest silk would around her body: perfectly. She had done it again. Why wouldn't her thoughts stay in her head? Swiftly, knowing that it would get too far if she didn't, Hermione pushed him away.

"I have to go." She tried to explain, but he pulled her back, mashing their lips together in another heated, perfect kiss. Once more, Hermione struggled to regain her mind. When she did, she pushed him back and slipped out of his arms, backing up a few feet as an extra precaution. "I'm sorry. I'll explain it all as soon as I can!" She promised him, promised herself, in a still hushed voice. He nodded, and she turned to go, making sure not to glance back. For if she did, there was no promise that she would be able to turn away again.

**(***Blaise Zabini***)**

He watched her walk away with his boxers feeling tighter than they ever had before. If only she knew the effect that she had on him. He had been telling the truth when he said that she had woken him up from a good dream; a sexual dream. He had just left out the small fact that she was the star of said dream. Deciding that it was too cold to be in the dungeeons in his boxers without another body to keep him warm, the Italian muttered the password (_Gremlin Ears_) and walked into the Commons Area. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see Draco leaning back on the couch, waiting for him. The taller boy had awakened when Hermione had entered their dorm, just as Blaise had. She was lucky that Draco was so like the snake their House represented; watching and waiting; observing before making the final strike. She was also lucky that no other Seventh year Slytherin was trained enough to awaken at her light footsteps.

"Care to explain?" Draco didn't have any emotion in his tone, but the curiousity showed through almost blatantly when it came to his eyes. Blaise gave a nonchalant shrug before taking a seat beside of the youngest Malfoy.

"She wanted to warn me." He didn't continue, knowing that Draco would take the bait. Minutes passed in silence.

"Warn you about what?" _Bingo_.

"Potter. Apparently, he's got the dueling skills of a master." Draco gave a scoff, but Blaise knew better. The Dark Lord didn't take an interest in losers. Even if said Dark Lord thought he did. This only strengthened his views. Draco could do what he wanted. Blaise wasn't going to fight Potter. Draco looked at him strangely, letting his guard down a bit, even though he didn't mean to.

"Potter? You're kidding, right? I've been trained by the best!" Yes, Draco had been trained by the best, but Blaise had been trained by the better, and he still didn't want to face Potter. If the Dark Lord had given them some one-on-one training, he would be more confident, but the Dark Lord hadn't, and he wasn't.

"Yes, Draco. I know." Blaise didn't give Draco any reason to get angry; to have any suspicion that he thought Draco stupid for being so closed-minded. Without waiting for a response, Blaise stood and walked back to the dorm, intent on continuing his dream where he had left off in the hallway.

**(***Albus Dumbledore***)**

Albus leaned back in his chair with a soft smile as he watched the sun rise from its slumber. It was a magnificent sight. It was almost as terrific to watch as the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had grown up wonderfully; so wonderfully, in fact, that Dumbledore couldn't have raised the boy better himself if he tried. It was unheard of for a boy to be born with pure magic and keep it. It was impossible, nay, _implausible_, but it had been done, and just when Albus had needed it, too. It had been one hundred and seven years since the last time he had found someone with pure magic, and that person had been eighty years old, had just purified his magic. He wouldn't have lasted the nineteen it took to sustain the body anyways. The only other person besides Harry that had pure magic at the moment was Ollivander, and Dumbledore had found that out too late. The wand-maker's magic had already set in. The man had become immortal mere days before Dumbledore had found out. It was disappointing to know, considering the closer the magical core grew to its completion date, the more powerful it became. If he had found out a few simple days sooner than he wouldn't need Harry now. Of course, he would probably do it anyways, but it wouldn't be nearly as necessary.

"What do you think, Fawkes?" His voice, the voice of a sweet old man, questioned his Phoenix gently. The large fire-bird cawed in response, earning a soft chuckle. Fawkes was Dumbledore's inspiration. What other creature could live forever, being reborn with the same knowledge every time? He wasn't sure what awaited him in the afterlife, but he knew that even if he were reborn, he wouldn't have all of the awareness that he had earned throughout his years of living. If he died, no one would be able to stop Voldemort, for no one would know about the man's seven – now five – Horcruxes. Harry had survived the killing curse by using the love of his mother as a shield. Nothing else about the boy was special. Nothing but his magic, of course. Soon enough, that magic would reach its peak, and Dumbledore would make his move. After all, it was for the _Greater Good_.


	6. Chapter Six

_**Author's Note:**____Nothing much here._

_**Disclaimer:**____If it were mine, it would have ended the way I want it to end: Ha! You thought I was going to tell you how this would end, didn't you?_

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry had his first two classes off as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team to figure out who their new assembly of players would be. Twenty-three people had showed up, but only six, besides Harry, obviously, would make it. So far, his most promising aspects were Adrian Linkhouse for Goalkeeper, Paravati Patil, Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey for Chasers, and Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas for Beaters. If only he could simply tell them that. If only there weren;t sixteen extra people here with a little talent that really wanted to represent their House. If only he didn't know the outcome fifteen minutes into try-outs.

"Alright, run the play again, this time without the showing off. I want a Quidditch team, not a circus!" Harry shouted up to the practicing Gryffindors. They wanted toshow off what they had so that Harry wouldn't see what they lacked, when it really only made their flaws more obvious.

"Yeah, guys! You'll never make it at that rate!" Ron's voice shouted from the goal posts. The red head was sure that he would make the team because he had made it last year. If he bothered to pull his ego back in, he'd see how much better Adrian was doing on the other side of the field. It didn't really matter, Harry supposed, considering the fact that everyone that Harry knew would make it had completely ignored the Weasley.

"So this is our team, huh?" A soft, Scottish voice questioned rhetorically. Harry glanced over at the familiar man before continuing to watch his future teammates. The ex-Gryffindor Quidditch captain didn't say anything else, keeping his charming brown eyes on the flying contenders who all had dreams of standing in their own spotlight, winning their own games.

"Correction, Oliver. It's my team." With a smile, Harry turned to his old friend, proudly showing him the Captain's Badge on his uniform. Oliver returned Harry's smile while running a hand through his slightly messy brown locks.

"I knew you could do it." The elder boy didn't comment on the team not being his anymore, tactfully avoiding that subject. It was obvious that he missed being a student, or at least being on the Hogwarts team.

"Fly lower! It'll make you less of a target!" Harry shouted to a boy that he knew wouldn't make it. Maybe he could practice that over the summer and make it next year. "So what bring you here, Oliver? Professional Quidditch not all it's cut out to be?" Harry questioned gently, knowing that wasn't the case. Oliver loved Quidditch more than anything else in the world. The happy smile that had overtaken Oliver's lips faded into a sad upwards turn of the lips before an answer came.

"No. It's better than what it's cut out to be. I was tossed from my broom and threw my shoulder. I was told to take a month or two off, but that my spot would be there when I was ready for it. Madam Hooch, luckily, was long overdue for a vacation, so here I am." Oliver used both hands to motion to himself, drawing a smile to Harry's face.

"Uh-huh. And this has nothing at all to do with the fact that Cedric took a job as assistant Ancient Runes teacher?" A blush raced up the Scott's face as he coughed into his hand.

"Um, no?" Harry grinned at Oliver.

"Who would you choose?" Harry questioned, giving his old friend a break by changing the subject.

"I have a feeling you already know who's made it and who hasn't." Oliver, as usual, was correct. Harry just gave a smile.

"Perhaps, but I'd like to hear your opinion anyways." The brooms swooping through the air came to an abrupt halt as the wonderful, ringing laughter of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and his friend was carried on the wind, up to their ears. Never had any of them heard a better sound.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione stood alone at her table in the potions classroom, wishing for the first time in her life that lunch would hurry up and get here. She wanted to see Harry and tell him about last night. Why couldn't Quidditch try-outs have waited? More importantly, why did Harry have to find such great amusement in flying around three hundred feet above ground level on a broom stick while chasing a small golden ball? Hermione would admit that she was a bit bias, considering her fear of heights, but that didn't really matter. A small sigh escaped her lips as she began to dice the three slug tails needed to complete her potion. Just because she had personal news didn't mean he should drop the only thing that really made him happy. She was just being selfish. Did it count as being selfish if she knew that she was being selfish and stopped herself from acting on it? A small smile drew itself on Hermione's face. If a tree falls in the forest and no one's around to hear it, does it make noise? Of course she was still selfish; she was just smart enough to realize that before it was too late. Besides, to be selfish was to be human. It was nothing to be ashamed about. Finally, Hermione began to add the diced pieces of tail, stirring clockwise between every three pieces.

"I do believe that this is the first time that you haven't finished before us." Blaise said while sliding into the chair that Hermione usually used, Draco taking Harry's a moment later. Hermione didn't look up from her potion. This was the most important part of the potion. If she messed up even just a little here then her potion was ruined. Hermione didn't even have the luxury of feeling embarrassed.

"I do believe this is the first time that you've had two people to work on the potion while I was alone." Hermione muttered under her breath while adding three more pieces. She didn't want to take the risk of messing up other people who needed even more concentration then she did.

"I would've ditched Draco in a heartbeat if you would've asked." Hermione's smile grew at the Italian's soft words, words that she was sure no one other than Draco and she could have possibly heard.

"No thank you, Blaise. I'm perfectly fine on my own, at least until Harry comes back." Hermione easily kept her voice steady. She had been stupid last night, but she didn't regret it. As far as Hermione was concerned, nothing would come of beating herself up over something she couldn't change. Still, Hermione didn't know anything about Blaise and until she did she had to tread more carefully. She had to ask Harry's opinion on the matter and see what he would do. If nothing else, it would help her clarification process greatly. Again, she smiled. But would she really be able to pull away, completely away, if Harry didn't agree? Probably not, no, but she could sure as hell try.

"I'm sure that I can keep you company just as well, if not better, than Harry." The last three pieces were tossed in by a tanned hand. "Watch it, Hermione. You almost did one too many stirs." Hermione blushed, stirring twice more before reaching for her beaker. And reaching. And reaching. And- Chocolate brown eyes looked up to see Blaise holding the beaker, Malfoy smirking beside of him. With a roll of her eyes and a suppressed smile, Hermione plucked the small vial from his hands and began to fill it. Who knew that Slytherins could act so much like Gryffindors when they wanted to?

"You should have allowed her to mess up. Gryffindors always have such memorable reactions when they mess up." Draco's voice suggested smugly. Now that sounded more like a Slytherin.

"I like not messing up just fine, thank you." With that, Hermione stuck the cork into the vial and walked to the front of the room. Dealing with Slytherins was Harry's specialty, not hers. Seriously. She tried once and ended up pinned against the wall! Out of her peripheral vision, Hermione saw Blaise talking in hushed tones to Malfoy, obviously about something dark, something that Gryffindors weren't allowed to know about. Damn, what she wouldn't give to be pinned against that wall again. Quickly brushing that thought away, Hermione collected her things and walked over to the table that the two Slytherins had abandoned. They followed.

"Just because we play Quidditch doesn't mean we've lost the use of our legs." Malfoy pointed out in what Hermione would have called a playful manner coming out of anyone else's mouth. Hermione opened her mouth to retort, finally beginning to see why Harry found this kind of thing fun.

"Of course not. Your minds, however, are a completely different matter." At that point, Snape swept back into the room, robe billowing behind him. Hermione could still remember how much that had frightened her in First year. Incredibly dark grey eyes met chocolate brown, sending a small shock of pain through Hermione's heart. She could have loved him. Hermione supposed that was why losing him, here fantasies of him, hurt so much: she knew that she could have loved him, if given the opportunity. Suddenly feeling nauseous, Hermione tuned out Blaise's – or maybe Malfoy's – response. She couldn't break down now, not here. She had been handling the fact that they could never be so well that she had fooled even herself. Why couldn't it be that easy? Why couldn't she just be over him already?

"_Because you're human_." That's what Harry would say if he were here. But he wasn't so he wouldn't. Blinking back the tears and putting up a perfect mask of happiness, Hermione turned back to what were probably two confused – they were Slytherins, she couldn't really tell – boys.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?" Hermione pretended not to notice the looks that Blaise and Malfoy exchanged, instead focusing on the words that Blaise was repeating.

**(***Narcissa Malfoy***)**

Narcissa sipped at her coffee with slight distain. It tasted perfect. It always tasted perfect, and she hated it. She hated everything that came with being a Malfoy, with being married to Lucius. Light blue-grey eyes closed with a sigh. That was a lie. Draco had come out of their relationship, and she wouldn't trade him for the world. Perfectly manicured fingers curled into wavy blonde hair as Narcissa let her walls down. Lucius was at a meeting with Cornelius Fudge and wouldn't be back for hours more. The wards were up. She could afford a moment of peace. Pale lids lifted from their resting position, allowing blue-grey eyes to see a pair of perfectly polished shoes. _Lucius_-

Her irises widened marginally in surprise before returning to normal, her infamous Malfoy mask slipping effortlessly back into place. Calmly, Narcissa raised her head, prepared for whatever her husband would throw at her. She was not, however, prepared for the startling crimson eyes which watched her bemusedly. As soon as she spotted him, magic began to flow freely from her Lord once more, wrapping around her like a flaming blanket from the coldest depths of hell. Such contradictory feelings were more addicting than one could imagine. Swiftly, she dropped from her chair down to the floor on her hands and knees in respect. Somehow, she still managed to look graceful.

"He's losing his touch." Narcissa didn't have to look up to know that he was talking about Lucius. She felt Voldemort's tall form step over her body and take the seat that she had occupied only moments before. "Stand, Narcissa, and take a seat. You're about to have guests." Her Lord's deep, melodic words were immediately obeyed, giving Narcissa the chance to see a shimmer of magic cover his body; changing it exponentially. All traces of his magic disappeared as his well-groomed, dark brown hair receded into his scalp, changing into a sandy blonde color at the same time. His crimson eyes turned to a pale green, skin wrinkling and bones reforming, making him look like a fairly short man in his mid-fifties. The doorbell rang, and Voldemort gave a nod. Narcissa turned without question to get the door.

"I'm sorry to drop in uninvited, but we need to talk." Remus's soft voice held sincerity, and Narcissa gave him a soft smile in recognition of that. The Lady of the Malfoy house gave a nod before moving aside to allow both him and her cousin to step through the threshold of her home. The first thing Narcissa noticed was that Remus had gotten Sirius to clean up. His steel grey eyes looked at her with a bored emotion, his ebony hair cut neatly and his face shaved pleasantly. Oh, what his parents wouldn't have done to see him like that. She walked them back into the dining area where Voldemort waited, looking meek. If she hadn't witnessed him change herself, she would swear that it wasn't him. Charmed green eyes looked up warily.

"I apologize, Lady Malfoy. I didn't realize that you had a prior appointment. I'll- I'll come back at a later date." There were no flaws in her Lord's acting. Truly, he sounded like a bumbling man trying to avoid the consequences of intruding on a Malfoy's meeting. Narcissa opened her mouth to excuse him, like any Lady would to an unwanted person, when Remus stepped in.

"It's fine. We're really the one's intruding here, and we'll be gone in just a bit." The werewolf placed a gentle hand on the Dark Lord, as if to reinforce his right to stay. The Dark Lord licked his lips nervously before nodding. Remus smiled at the response. Sirius wasn't nearly as enthused.

"He can't stay! Have you forgotten what we came here for?" Sirius nearly shouted in protest. Remus responded with a 'shut-up-and-sit-down-I-know-what-I'm-doing' look that almost brought a small smile to Narcissa's lips. Almost. Sirius crossed his arms, face twisting into something that looked suspiciously like a pout, before flopping into the chair across from the disguised Dark Lord.

"Look, Narcissa, we need to know exactly what your Lord wants with Harry." Remus's voice, sounding kind and cold at the same time, nearly had Narcissa showing her shock. Instead, she kept her mask in place and did what she would have done if Voldemort weren't sitting behind her, watching her every move.

"I don't believe that this is the proper place to discuss-"

"It's the perfect place to discuss this." Remus wasn't budging.

"Remus, I-" Sirius snorted, cutting off the female Malfoy's words.

"You might as well give up now, Cissa. I've seen him like this and he won't give up until he gets what he wants." Sirius didn't sound at all concerned about that fact. Narcissa pressed her lips together ever so slightly, trying to find a way to get out of her current predicament. On one hand, the only other person in the room was the Dark Lord. On the other hand, if she said anything then the two men would become suspicious. Remus was smart and no matter how stupid Sirius acted, he hadn't been the top Auror for nothing.

"I already told you, Remus. I don't know what he wants." Blue eyes narrowed lightly as Remus ran a hand through his thick sandy blonde locks.

"Rodolphus is upstairs. Sirius, go keep him company." Narcissa looked at Remus, light confusion breaking through her shields. "I can smell him. He just came through the floo system." Sirius blinked.

"You mean the guy who was stupid enough to marry Bellatrix?" Sirius scrunched up his nose in disgust at the name of his distant cousin. Remus gave a nod, and Sirius shrugged. Dutifully standing and making his way to the stairs. As soon as her cousin was out of earshot, Remus spoke again.

"Cut the act. I can smell you, too." Narcissa held her breath. Suddenly, she wished that it had been Lucius that had found her near her breaking point.

**(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)**

Rodolphus brushed the soot off of his shoulder uncaringly. He had easily put Bellatrix under a strong Stupefy and then added his own version of a Body-Bind spell. It wasn't truly necessary, but it comforted him in the end. Gracefully, he walked out of the Malfoy's Floo Room, towards their dining area where Narcissa was sure to be. She was much better company than her sister, and he had matters to discuss with her, mainly about her husband. The man was overstepping his boundaries far too often, and had been ever since their Lord had returned. Soon, he would pay for that. Rodolphus just wanted to make sure that Narcissa was aware of that. As he approached the staircase, magic assaulted his senses. The most recognizable magical signature was Narcissa's, followed by one of a werewolf, most likely Remus Lupin, which Rodolphus only recognized because of the fact that he was the first were-creature that the eldest Lestrange had ever met. The final, and closest magical signature was one that Rodolphus would never forget. It was shady, powerful, Black magic – in the most literal sense – covered over by light magic.

It was delightful, like the mix of sweets inside of a chocolate truffle. The chocolate was sweet, but it wasn't what you had in mind when you went to the store and bought it. No, it was the container. That light magic was what had kept a true dark arts master from taking the young Black. It was what had kept the true light magic users around him. It was also what had kept the younger male from reaching his true potential. Rodolphus didn't mind. It just meant that he would be the first to taste that magic; that wondrous, dark magic. So many people didn't understand the value of magic; that magic was what it was all about. Magic defined a person. When Tom had been younger, before his first death, he hadn't understood that fact. Now he did. Now the Dark Lord understood it better than Rodolphus himself did. The only question was, what would he do with that knowledge? A moment later, Sirius Black's head poked around the bend of the hallway, steel-grey eyes widening as soon as they caught sight of Rodolphus. If it weren't for the blatant show of shock, Rodolphus would say that he looked like he was supposed to; like a pure blood. Sirius took less than a millisecond to reel himself back in before moving his body the rest of the way into the hall.

"Moony says I've got to stay up here with you." Sirius said as if explaining why he had been sent to Askaban. Rodolphus kept his face perfectly blank as he put two and two together to get the fact that Moony was Remus. Either way, it meant that he still had three floors of the Malfoy home to use. To use with Sirius Black. Rodolphus was fairly sure that he could handle that. A tanned hand waved in front of his face. "Hello! Earth to Rodolphus!" Sirius paused in his waving and speaking to ponder something. "You know, you could really use a shorter name." While Rodolphus had refrained from reacting to Sirius's waving around in his personal space, he cocked a brow ever so slightly at that. Rodolphus had never had a nickname. Then again, he had never wanted a nickname. In all truth, he still didn't want a nickname. It looked like Sirius was just going to have to get used to using his full name.

"How about Rudolph? Or maybe Dolphus?" Sirius sucked in an excited breath, a glint that Rodolphus would almost consider malicious entered steel grey eyes. "I know! I'll call you Rudy!" Yes, Sirius was definitely going to have to get over this whole nickname thing. Fast.

"No." Rodolphus made his point clear in that simple, monotonous word. The smaller male didn't seem to get that.

"Okay. Rudy it is!" Rodolphus completely ignored Sirius, instead turning around to travel to the Malfoy Library. As far as he was concerned, the easiest way to deal with a Black was to read. If Sirius was anything like his cousin then he would despise being ignored for a book.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

"I'm not going to fool myself into thinking that your intentions for Harry are anywhere near good. I'll normally agree with his judgment, but don't think for a moment that he'll go behind my back if I tell him to stay away from you. Now what do you really want with him?" Tom watched the werewolf with nearly amused crimson eyes. Lupin had hesitated after first seeing his true looks, but had continued only a moment later without fail. Now, Tom wasn't about to give away the ace of his deck, but there was no harm in throwing out a jack or two.

"I want his magic." They didn't need to know the details of his plans or what Harry Potter would be like afterwards. That was all trivial. At least, it was trivial to Tom. Intelligent blue eyes narrowed.

"Why?" Tom didn't resist the small urge to give a lazy smirk. If he could persuade the wolf to accept his want of Harry Potter then things would become so much easier. And he had Rodolphus to handle Sirius Black. His Second-in-Command always did have a thing for Blacks. And as soon as Tom was in full power, Rodolphus could give up the guise of being married to Bellatrix and pursue his own significant other. Tom had no doubt in his mind that it would be the last remaining male Black.

"He's powerful; as I'm sure you've noticed." The younger male simply continued his attempt at intimidation, as if waiting for Tom to continue. "I want that power on my side." Again, Lupin looked at him, but Tom wasn't about to speak again. Manipulation was key and if there was one thing that Tom knew how to do, it was manipulate.

"I want an Unbreakable Vow. I want to be absolutely sure that you won't do a thing to Harry that he doesn't want you to do." Remus said, face steely. Tom simply looked at the blonde man.

"I'm afraid that won't work. To make an Unbreakable Vow, both participant must mean what they say, completely and totally." Tom didn't believe Lupin to be stupid, and it was obvious that he wouldn't mean it. At least, not completely. The determination in Lupin's blue eyes wavered for just a moment, giving Tom the opening that he needed. "I can honestly say that nothing I do to Harry will be without his permission, but I can't agree to anything else you would ask." Tom expertly allowed a small dose of his magic to trickle into the air and wrap around Lupin's senses. He would win this battle, and that would bring him a large amount closer to winning the war. Faster than Tom was expecting, the determination was back.

"He's all Sirius and I have left. I know you don't care just the same as I know that the Prophecy was at least partially correct." Crimson eyes watched the werewolf with shielded eyes. How did he know about the Prophecy? "He's just as strong as you are, and if you don't truly mean for him to be on your side; not just as a follower, but an equal, then only one of you will survive." Lupin didn't wait for Tom to respond – not that Tom was planning on responding anyhow – before walking towards the staircase. None of his followers would have been able to speak to him like that and walk away. No one in general would be able to speak to him like that and walk away. Swiftly, Tom cast a nonverbal, wandless _Crucio_ on the ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Instantaneously, Lupin fell to the floor with a scream. Moments passed before Tom released the Unforgivable, cold crimson eyes trained on Lupin but not missing how Narcissa had stiffened, as if she had wanted to go and stop the hybrid's pain.

"No one is my equal. Remember that as surely as you remember the pain that had just coursed through your veins. Remember your place on the floor at my feet for that is where you belong; just like your friend; just like your Godson. Remember that and be gone." Lupin stayed on the floor only a moment longer before standing on unsteady feet and going up the steps. The werewolf had said all that he had wanted to say, just as Tom had done. The negotiations had been made. Their positions had been made clear. It would all boil down to tomorrow after the duel. It would all boil down to Harry Potter. Let the games begin.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus barely managed to stumble up the stairs. He had been put under the Cruciatus curse before, but it had never been that bad. It had never hurt so _damn _much. Never, had he felt like his body had been dipped into a frozen fire; every particle of his body screaming for release. Truthfully, he would have given up anything for that pain to stop. He would have thrown himself at Voldemort's feet and begged for mercy if he could have gotten his pain-riddled body to move, his panic-addled mind to think, and his screeching vocal cords to speak in complete sentences; in complete words even. That was what scared Remus. Harry was extremely powerful, but he had never shown his magic to be anywhere near that level. Did they really stand a chance? Using the wall for support, Remus began checking rooms. Nine bedrooms, seven bathrooms, twelve sitting areas, and two kitchens later, Remus walked into the Malfoy Library.

"And then – you're not going to believe this part, Rudy – Harry jumps off of the banister to catch me! I swear; that was the best game of tag the world's ever seen! Er, that the world's _never_ seen, I guess. No one was there but Harry and me. Moony wouldn't have joined in anyhow. He doesn't believe in fun." Remus smiled a bit at his friend's description of that day. He had left for one hour to get groceries and Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had been in complete shambles by the time he had returned. Still, it was a rare moment that he had seen Harry happier, so Remus had let the incident slide. A deep voice that Remus assumed belonged to Rodolphus hummed in a way that usually meant 'Go on, I'm listening.' It was a hum that Remus himself often used while listening to Sirius. A mere minute later, Sirius came into sight, sitting upside down on what looked like a recliner; his feet where his head should be and his head where his feet should be. Rodolphus sat across from Sirius in an almost regal position. His right ankle rested easily across his left knee as Rodolphus leaned back almost lazily in his chair, brown eyes trailing over the page with what Remus could tell was feigned interest. He had done the same thing enough times to know.

"Rudy?" Remus couldn't help himself. Rodolphus's parents had named him perfectly. He looked like a Rodolphus and nothing else; especially not _Rudy_. Sirius bent his body at the waist to push himself into a halfway sitting position; just enough to see Remus. Rodolphus didn't react. Remus held himself straight, making sure that the pain he was still feeling didn't show.

"Yeah. Rodolphus is way too long, don't you think, Moony?" Sirius's childish grin didn't cover up the intense questions that stormy grey eyes were shooting at Remus. The were-creature simply gave him a light chuckle, well aware that some of his pain bled through to his voice.

"I think it sounds just fine. Now, I'm sure that Rodolphus had a reason for being here besides distracting you, so we're going to take our leave, alright?" At Remus's words, the smile from the ex-Auror's face disappeared and he flipped himself upright.

"I thought you wanted to see old Voldy?" Remus didn't respond to Sirius's question; just kept smiling. "What happened down there, Remus?" Blue eyes looked over at Rodolphus. The man wasn't even pretending to read anymore, simply watching the two ex-Marauders with calculating brown eyes.

"We can talk about this when we get home, Sirius." As usual, Sirius refused to listen to reason.

"Remus, what happened? Did you face him without me? Is that why you sent me up here?" Sirius had never been stupid. This time was no exception. Remus, seeing this, sighed and sluggishly walked over to the seat beside of Sirius, leaning on it without sitting down.

"He was the man you saw downstairs. I told him that Harry wasn't something to mess with and he used _Crucio_ on me. The end." It wasn't nearly all that had happened, but it was all that Sirius needed to know for the moment. Stormy grey eyes narrowed, promising that they would be talking about this the moment they reached Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, before Sirius gave a dramatic sigh.

"Fine. Don't tell me. See if I care." Sirius said childishly. It was an act that anyone who didn't know the Black would buy. Remus ignored Sirius and instead gave a nod to Rodolphus.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on him." Again, Rodolphus showed no signs of hearing, instead choosing to get back to his book. Remus kept the soft smile plastered onto his face as Sirius got up and they left the library, walking through the twisting hallways of the Malfoy Manner until finally reaching the staircase. No one was waiting at the bottom. Remus didn't waste time getting to the door.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry sat calmly in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, watching the clouds go by. He had ended try-outs fifteen minutes early, deciding that enough was enough. With that done, Harry had an extra fifteen minutes along with lunch time. So if he waited half an hour then he could have a long, fifteen minute stroll up to the Great Hall, and then another half hour to eat. It would give him time to think; to think about the duel. He had to think about his future or lack thereof. Merlin, he had to think about _everyone's_ future! The fate of everything from magical creatures to muggles rested on Harry's shoulders, and the pressure was killing him. He certainly wouldn't wish his life on anyone else, but a break every once in a while would be wondrous. Then again, at least Voldemort would be the one killing him. That way, he would get one last taste of that incredibly dark magic before dying.

A small, whimsical laugh escaped through Harry's slightly parted lips. Or maybe the Dark Lord would just randomly decide that he wanted to be friends with Harry. Now _that_ would be something for Rita Skeeter to write about. He was positive that the Quibbler would have a traditional pure blood's ball with that one. Scratch that. There was no way that a traditional pure blood in his or her right mind would allow Rita into his or her ball. A small, wry smile made its way to Harry's face. Unscratch that. There was no such thing as a traditional pure blood in his or her right mind. After all, who hated muggles so much that they practically made a religion out of it? All Harry really hoped was that Voldemort had gotten rid of his 'Kill everything that has anything to do with muggles' plan. It didn't matter to the Boy-Who-Lived that Voldemort hated muggles, it was just that a muggle had made that mistake before and the entire world had seen how well Adolf Hitler's plan had worked out. Green eyes closed as Harry felt Hermione's nostalgic magical signature wash over him; the sound of her footsteps following soon after.

"I thought that I'd find you here." A shadow fell over Harry a moment after Hermione's voice drifted fondly over to his ears.

"And what made you think that?" He smiled, and didn't have to open his eyes to know that she was smiling back. Harry felt her sit down beside of him before responding.

"I'm not really sure. Maybe the fact that you always come here to think was a little tip off. You know, _maybe_." Her teasing tone was a welcome change from the dark turn that his thoughts had been taking. Harry hummed as an answer, allowing a soft silence to cover them like the most fragile of blankets. Perhaps he was becoming predictable? "We're missing lunch, you know." Hermione broke the comfortable silence a few minutes later. Finally, Harry lifted his eyelids to reveal emerald green irises.

"What's wrong? You're missing ogling Blaise from across the room already?" A feminine hand smacked Harry's shoulder lightly as a response to his comment.

"No. I was just… You haven't been eating a lot lately, Harry. I'm getting worried." She always was the observant one. Harry sat up, giving Hermione a light shrug in the process. He was too nervous to be hungry.

"I just haven't had much of an appetite lately." It wasn't completely true, and they both knew it.

"How about now?" Hermione inquired gently. Truthfully, Harry was. It had been a rough day. With a nod, Harry stood and offered Hermione a hand.

"Come on. We'll still have about forty-five minutes to eat if we hurry." Hermione smiled back at him before taking the offered hand. The walk back to the castle was spent in sweet, sweet silence. When they reached the Great Hall, Harry gave a mock bow before opening one of the two large doors for Hermione. Warm brown eyes shot Harry a look that seemed like a mix between disapproval and amusement before walking in. The only sound in the Great Hall was the door closing behind them. People were staring. _Everyone_ was staring. Without warning, Ginny stood up from the Gryffindor table, marched over to Harry, and slapped him across the face. The Great Hall broke into uproar. Harry barely heard the young red head's words over the noise.

"_Fucking bastard_." And then she ran out of the room in tears. Harry blinked before lifting a hand to feel his cheek where she had hit him. He was positive that it was turning red by now. What had he done?

"What's going on here?" Harry shrugged. Apparently, Hermione was as confused as he was. Slowly, they walked over to their table. Harry slid into the seat beside of Seamus even more confused than before.

"I didn't know you were gay." Harry blinked at the Irishman's statement.

"I am?" Dean jumped into the conversation, giving Harry a strange look in the process.

"Aren't you? It's all around the school, Mate." Harry frowned a bit, well aware that the entirety of the student body was listening in on their conversation.

"Not as far as I'm aware of. Where did you hear this?" Dean blinked at Harry's response, looking as confused as the Boy-Who-Lived felt. Hermione had a calculating look in her eyes as she watched Dean, waiting for an answer. She obviously had a better idea of what was going on than Harry did.

"I heard it when I walked into the lunchroom. So, wait a second, you're straight?" Harry sighed at the question. No one made anywhere near this big a deal when Fred and George came out.

"Not really. I've never really liked anyone so I can't really say which sex I prefer." Then the whispers started. Harry, to the best of his ability, ignored them and tried to eat. It didn't matter that his appetite had, once again, vanished. He didn't want to worry Hermione again. After a few minutes of pushing his food around on his plate, Harry watched Hermione stand.

"Come on, Harry. You don't have to put up with this." Harry smiled at her anger, knowing that she meant it; knowing that she was wrong. He _did_ have to put up with it. He had to put up with it because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He had to put up with it because he was the Savior of the Light. He had to put up with it because no one cared enough to make it stop.


	7. Chapter Seven

_**Author's Note:**____Enjoy! The tournament will be next chapter!_

_**Disclaimer:**____Mine, mine, mine, mine, not mine. Oh, darn it! Not mine… _

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Sirius Black***)**

"Until dinner? Seriously?" Sirius shouted, not wanting to wait to see his Godson.

"Yes, Sirius, _seriously_." Remus paid his friend no heed as he turned the next page in his book. What was he going to tell Harry? While he knew that Voldemort had nothing good in store for the young boy; he also knew that Harry would prefer to handle it on his own. It all came down to whether he needed to trample Harry's self-esteem by showing a lack of trust and telling him to stay away from the Dark Lord or allow Harry to make his own choices and risk Voldemort destroying his spirit completely. It didn't sound like a hard choice to most, but it was. If he showed distrust then Harry would be hurt; hurt more than Remus could say. He would lose Harry's faith in him, and when it came to Harry, faith was something that could never be earned back.

"Let him make his own decisions." Remus looked up from his book as Sirius's voice broke through the silence that the werewolf hadn't realized had fallen over them. Slowly, a thankful smile appeared on Remus's face.

"I will." He loved it when the ex-Auror allowed his brilliance to shine through the childish façade. There was another moment of silence, this time a comfortable one, before Sirius spoke again.

"So… Does this mean we get to go early?" The Black's eager tone echoed throughout the rather large room easily.

"No."

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco exchanged a heated glance with Severus before getting back to his potion. Potter and he would be the first ones to duel. That wouldn't have bothered him so much if the Dark Lord hadn't ordered it. The Dark Lord never did things without good reason, Draco just wasn't sure whether the reason was good for him or not. Severus had told him the news just after sex that very same morning. Personally, he would have liked to have had more of a heads up. Still, he wasn't going to allow himself to mess up a perfectly good potion just because the Dark Lord had finally started paying attention to him. It was bound to happen anyways. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys always got what they wanted. Unless, of course, the Dark Lord didn't want him to get what he wanted. Damn. He was thinking too much again. Adding one last Gremlin toe, Draco finished the potion. Light grey eyes glanced up as he capped the vile. Potter and Granger were already at the front. He and Blaise had been beaten. Again. Seeming not to care, Blaise plucked the small glass container out of Draco's hands and sauntered to the front of the room. If other people weren't around, Draco would have rolled his eyes. Blaise could be such a show-off sometimes. Then again, it wasn't like Draco really had any room to complain. He enjoyed attention just as much.

Yet, as the young Malfoy stood from his current table, he knew that now wasn't the time to be thinking about such things. The Dark Lord would be at the tournament. His father would be at the tournament. And who knew how many _Deatheaters_ would be there! Draco couldn't afford to screw up. He had to beat Harry Potter. As he watched said boy toss Granger – or perhaps Blaise – a smile, a positively brilliant plan came to mind. It would be humiliation if he lost to the Savior of the Light, but if he lost to a new member of the Dark… That would be completely different. And considering the way that the Light had been treating him lately, it wouldn't be all _too _hard to convince him to cross over. Add that to the fact that it would make the Dark Lord happy, it was perfect. Finally, Draco reached the only three other people who had finished their potion already. If Blaise could get Granger to follow along with Potter then the annoying Savior would be even more likely to agree. Then, the Dark Lord would praise him, or at least give him a compliment or two. Of course, Draco would be the happiest if the man would just pick him up and fuck him against the castle wall.

"So how are you feeling about the upcoming tournament?" Potter questioned him as if he actually cared. Draco gave a haughty sneer.

"I'm fine, Potter, it's you who should be worried." Even if Potter was going to agree to switch over, he was still the enemy at the moment. Potter just offered him a soft smile while cocking both brows.

"Believe me, I am." Draco wasn't sure whether the smaller boy was serious or simply making fun of him. He had, after all, told the old fool that dueling wasn't his best subject. Draco went with the latter option simply because he knew how to deal with that one: anger.

"Right. And you're the next Dark Lord, too." It was meant to be a sarcastic comment, considering Potter would never be able to defeat the Dark Lord to do that and had way too much of a hero-complex, but Potter didn't respond; no one did. The class was completely quiet. What? They didn't actually think that he was serious, did they? Judging by the way that everyone was pretending to pay attention to their potions, probably to avoid the wrath of Severus, and sneaking glances every few seconds, the answer was yes. Draco's upper lip lifted a bit in a sneer.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. We all know that trusting you to win this war is like trusting a House Elf not to follow orders. If we want to win the war, we've got to do it ourselves." It was a clear statement; clearly saying that the Light would never win, but not in any incriminating way. Especially since he didn't say which side he was for. His father had taught him well. Finally, as if snapping out of a trance, Potter answered.

"Have fun with that." And then he walked back towards his table, completely ignoring the whispers which had begun to break out. Well, they could be heard every minute or so, as if pausing would stop Severus from hearing. Imbeciles.

"Do you think he'll really be the next Dark Lord?" A random Gryffindor that Draco didn't care enough to remember the name of whispered to a red and gold clad girl.

"I heard he's powerful enough." She muttered back after a full minute of 'sneaking' glances between Potter – because he was the object of their conversation – and Severus – to make sure that he didn't catch them. So much for the infamous Gryffindor loyalty. It was no wonder that they weren't sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Well… _yeah_. But do you really think he'd do that? Harry's always been nice to me-" The girl cut him off quickly, speaking in the same 'I-know-everything' tone that Granger had used in First year.

"And you don't think that," the girl paused to fake a cough into her hand, lowering her voice even further, as if that would make her any less audible, "_You-Know-Who_ was nice when he went here? It's all an act!" Draco pulled his eyes away from the murmuring pair and over to Potter, who simply smiled like he didn't care, like his own House turning against him meant nothing at all. Something was going on here, and Draco was determined to find out what.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry glanced up from his potions book when he smelt something burning: Ron and Neville's potion. Green eyes widened. Whose bright idea had it been to put those two together to work on a potion! Quickly, Harry jumped up, putting all of his Quidditch training to good use as he sprinted over to their potion. It was a bubbling purple, whereas it should have been a calm orange by that point. Swiftly calculating a way to turn it into something, anything, that wouldn't explode, Harry ran over to the ingredients cabinet and grabbed three dragon scales, a jar of newt eyes, and a case of lizard claws. The dicing went quickly, the chopping even quicker, and soon enough, Harry was tossing it all in, doing half stirs and quick twists. In minutes, the bubbling purple simmered down to a beautiful silver color, almost like mercury.

"Mr. Potter-" Snape stopped himself as he laid eyes on the potion. "Class dismissed." Harry's brows furrowed together in confusion.

"Wha-" This time, Snape interrupted Harry instead of himself.

"Class _dismissed_, Mr. Potter. _Leave_." Harry hesitated for only a moment before leaving the room with the rest of the class. What got Harry even more confused than usual was the fact that they still had twenty minutes left before class would end. In consolation, Malfoy looked just as confused as he did, in that emotionless sort of Malfoy way.

"What did you do to our potion!" Ron's voice was angry, just as it had been the past few times that he had gotten the chance to talk to his once best friend. Harry calmed the spark of anger that tried to flicker to life.

"I saved it. Your potion was going to blow up the entire classroom." He tried to make the red head understand; tried to get through without a fight.

"It was doing just fine!" Ron shoved Harry. Green eyes dilated as Harry stopped himself from shoving back; from breaking Ron's arm, just like he had always refrained himself from doing to his remaining relatives. Harry grit his teeth just a bit, the anger sparking again.

"If you say so, Ron." Harry couldn't let himself get pushed around today for there was no guarantee that he would be able to stop himself from pushing back. He was under too much stress.

"Yeah, well- Wait, what?" Why couldn't Ron just understand for once?

"You're right. I should have left your potion alone. I'm sorry." Harry saw Hermione watching him in confusion and thanked Merlin that she didn't step in.

"Yeah… Yeah! You should be sorry!" Harry blinked, knowing that he needed to get out of there.

"And I am. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Harry swiftly brushed past the other students, barely noticing the magic escaping through the souls of his shoes, small white flames as cold as ice lashing out with every step he took. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one that didn't notice.

"Harry! Harry calm down!" He heard Hermione pleaded quietly once they were a ways down the hall, her slight hands clutching onto the hem of his robe. Funny, he hadn't noticed her following him.

"I am calm, 'Mione." It was true, in a way. He wasn't angry anymore, just blank. His emotions had been locked safely away until he could deal with them properly.

"No, Harry, you're not. You're shutting yourself off again." Green eyes blinked curiously at her words. She knew him so well.

"So?" It was how he dealt with things. She knew that.

"It's not healthy, Harry." Harry closed his eyes, halfway ashamed. Of course she was only trying to help. That was just how Hermione was. Lightly, he let out a sigh.

"Sorry, 'Mione. It's just… a habit, suppose." The guilt was leaking through his walls, but the anger was well at bay.

"It's- It's fine, Harry. I just wish you'd talk to me more." Easier said than done. He let her in on some things; many things, but not everything. He didn't say anything about his surrogate parents beating him, or the wild emotions that coursed through his veins when people assumed that light magic was good and dark magic was evil, or even that whether you harbored light or dark magic had any impact on how strong you were. Hermione didn't know how many times he had wished that _he_ had a shoulder to cry on for once or that he could rest without leaving one eye open; without worrying about being attacked from every angle at every moment. All he wanted was a moment of peace, and that was all that the world refused to give him. So, with a completely fake smile that Harry had used so many times before – though almost never on Hermione – the Boy Who Lived responded.

"Alright, Hermione, I will." He hated lying to her, but there were no other options. Hermione was too soft to handle all of his problems. For Merlin's sake, _Harry_, was too soft to handle all of his problems! So he would stay silent, and she would stay innocent and kind, unhurt by the cruel acts that others had done whilst she wasn't around. She smiled back, obviously buying it, and Harry broke just a little more inside. If he couldn't have peace, could he at least have someone who could look him in the eye and tell that he was lying through his teeth?

"Thank you, Harry." No. No, he couldn't. They spent the rest of their twenty minutes strolling around the castle in a comfortable silence. When they finally made it back to the potions classroom, there was a magical sign floating in front of the door. It had two, simple, glowing words:

_Class Cancelled_

Harry stared. Potions class had never, in all of his six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, been cancelled. Green eyes closed, as if that would make the sign go away, before opening again. It was still there. Once more, green eyes closed, a light groan escaping from his throat as he slumped against the wall. Had his potion fix really been _that_ bad?

"I told you that you shouldn't have touched the bloody potion!" Ron's voice echoed throughout the hall; throughout the now present students trying to get a look at what the door said. Snapping his eyes open, Harry glared at Ron.

"Ron?" Harry made sure to keep his tone placid as the red head pursed his lips.

"_What_?" The word was practically spit at the young Savior, causing his fist to curl at his side; nails biting into the skin of his palm.

"Shut up." With that said, Harry turned and marched off. Hermione didn't follow. She didn't have to. They both knew where he was headed. So, without looking back to see the sputtering face of Ron, Harry went to the Quidditch Pitch to think. That's where the duel would be held anyways, and there was really no point in attending his Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Astronomy or Herbology classes. He already had all of the knowledge to pass the classes, whether he attended or not. Sure, it was a full workload either way – what with homework and all – plus Quidditch practice and Prefect duties, but Harry enjoyed the distraction of it. Quietly, Harry laid down in the middle of the Pitch to watch the clouds go by, falling asleep somewhere along the way.

**(***Severus Snape***)**

Severus stared at the potion, still trying to comprehend how Potter had managed to pull it off. That particular potion had only been made once before in all of recorded history, and that was by Merlin, himself. No one had been able to figure out how he'd done it, and Merlin had refused to tell. Many had tried to duplicate it, but none had succeeded. Until now. No one had succeeded because it was the only known potion that required magic to flow into it. Only the most powerful of wizards could control their magic that well, and even then, the potion required the same type of magic that Merlin had harbored. Those two simple facts told Snape three things: (A) Potter was extremely powerful. (B) He had the same type of magic as Merlin. And (C) The Dark Lord was punishing Lucius through Draco. It was no wonder he wanted Draco to face the boy first! Dark eyes flitting back to the potion, Severus made a decision. He had to warn Draco. Emotionless mask back in place, the Potions Master spun on his heels towards the door, wandlessly spelling the cauldron and everything in it to his private potions laboratory. As soon as he spun, he stopped.

"Hello, Severus." Immediately, Severus dropped to one knee.

"My Lord." He kept his head down and his shields up, well aware that the man wouldn't be happy about his plans; if he didn't know about them already, that was.

"Lucius needs to learn his place, and while his son being the first one knocked out of the tournament won't do that, it'll certainly knock him down a step or two." Obviously, the physically younger male already knew. "For the moment, and only the moment, Draco and Lucius are connected. If you wouldn't attach your fate to Lucius's, don't do it to Draco's." The advice was more of an order than anything else. Severus kept his head down, fear leaking into his veins, as it always did when the Dark Lord was around. Draco was important to him, though he knew that the younger male only sought him for meaningless sex. If it came down to it, his life or Draco's, Severus didn't know which one he would choose, and that prevented him from looking up; from seeing the amused darkness glinting in crimson orbs.

"Of course, My Lord." The Potions Master heard more than saw black dress shoes saunter around him. Severus felt the bottom of said shoe press down on his back and grit his teeth to keep himself from doing something stupid as light pressure was applied. This was neither the time nor the place to become a caring person!

"You're mind doesn't match your mouth, Severus." Voldemort said his name in an almost taunting tone, and Severus forced his mind blank. Dull, emotionless eyes stared at the cold stone floor. There was a reason that he was the Dark Lord's left hand, and it wasn't because of his good looks. If nothing else, Severus was loyal. He wouldn't betray the Dark Lord. He wouldn't betray the man he possibly loved. And as it came down to it, as he shut his emotions off, Severus unwillingly chose. Potter wouldn't kill Draco. Voldemort would. It was as simple as that. He was choosing the lesser of two evils.

"Much better." Severus could practically _hear_ the smirk in Voldemort's voice. "Now, where's the potion that clued you in?" The foot removed itself; a silent command to stand. Somehow, as Severus stood and led the Dark Lord to his private potions lab, he felt like he was condemning the world. Who knew? Maybe he was.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione all but ignored the blonde haired, blue eyed Hufflepuff trying to gain her attention as she jotted down everything that Professor Binns was saying about the Gremlin Wars.

"Hermione!" The girl's urgent whisper once again reached Hermione's ears, annoying her to no end. Finally giving in, but not giving up, Hermione took out a small piece of parchment, spelling it to go to the girl.

What?

And then the parchment disappeared and Hermione was back to writing notes. Less than a minute passed before the response was on her desk.

Is Harry really on the Dark side?

Hermione stopped writing mid-sentence. Had the rumors really progressed so far as to have the ever-loyal Hufflepuffs questioning Harry's place in the war? Brown eyes glanced over at the empty seat beside of her. She hadn't seen Harry since he had so brilliantly told Ron to shut up, and that was six classes – not including lunch – ago. He had never skipped so many classes at once before. Slowly, Hermione wrote back.

Why would you think something so ludicrous?

She didn't allow the note to show her insecurities on the matter. It was true that Harry wasn't on the Dark side, but he wasn't on the Light side, either. His loyalties were hanging in the balance. And, when it came right down to it, so were hers.

Well, everybody's saying it, and he is a Parselmouth, after all. You can't really just up and trust someone who can speak to snakes. Plus, I've never actually heard him say what side he was on. So… Is it true or not?

The written answer had Hermione crumpling up the piece of parchment and tossing it into her knapsack. She had thought that they had gotten over that in Second year. Really, would it make that much of a difference if he could speak to _lions_, instead? As Hermione glanced at the still waiting Hufflepuff out of her peripheral vision, she couldn't help but be disgusted at the obvious answer. _Yes_. Harry was getting punished for the sins of others, and there was nothing she could do to help. As the only female member of what people once called the Golden Trio slowly went back to writing her notes, a horribly wonderful idea popped into her head.

She could help, but she would have to enlist the help of others to do so. If the Light wouldn't accept Harry, then maybe the Dark would. Never before had she actually thought of Harry taking that extra step in the other direction, but it made sense. If he had to choose a side, it may as well be a side that would be open about their opinions towards him; wouldn't pretend to care and crush his spirits further with false promises of friendship. But before she could introduce Harry to the idea, she had to make sure the offer was there. Hermione hoped that Blaise and Malfoy didn't have important classes next. After all, they needed to have a talk.

**(***Pansy Parkinson***)**

Pansy allowed a sly smile to curve on her face as Draco recounted how Severus was going to be personally tutoring him during the upcoming summer. Through the emotionless mask, Draco really did care for the man. At least somewhat. She was glad that they had the next two classes together, and it helped that Blaise was accompanying them, too. She didn't have the same childhood-friend bond that she shared with Draco, but she was still closer to him than any other person in Hogwarts.

"We need to talk." Hermione Granger's voice was more solemn than Pansy had ever heard it, but, love interest of Blaise or not, Slytherins weren't kind to Gryffindors.

"And we need to get to class." The female Slytherin stated with a sneer placed firmly on her lips. For the first time in all of the six-going-on-seven years that Pansy had known the Mudblood, Granger hurled an insult right back at her.

"Then get going. You aren't needed for the conversation to take place." Pansy cocked a brow at the completely Slytherin manner in which the insult had been delivered: cold and cruel with a touch of arrogance. Pansy's sneer solidified, though at Granger's verbal attack or Blaise's almost-smile she wasn't sure.

"Where they go, I go." Pansy expected that faltering, unsure look to appear on Granger's face, but it didn't. In fact, a surprisingly Slytherin smile appeared on her face.

"Your common room or mine?" The Slytherin female blinked; face going completely blank. She had just, in a roundabout way, agreed to speaking with Granger.

"Ours." Draco stepped in for her and, as the last of students scurried off to their classes trying to avoid being late, they walked down to the dungeons; to the Slytherin common room. Blaise sauntered along next to Granger, just a few feet in front of Pansy and Draco. Brown eyes traveled across the Gryffindor's back suspiciously. What was she up to?

"Blaise chooses well." Draco's voice was soft against Pansy's ear, so soft that she barely heard it. Without missing a beat, Pansy replied just as quietly.

"He could choose better." She could feel the Malfoy nod more than she could see it.

"By far, but it helps our cause in the end." As much as Pansy hated to agree with the statement, she really had no choice. Seducing the best friend of Harry Potter was an ingenious way to get to Harry Potter.

"Agreed." Moments later, after a muttered _Dragon Scales_, they sat down in the silver and green clad common room, three Slytherins on one side and a single Gryffindor on the other.

"How against Harry is the Dark side?" Granger's words were solemnly serious, shocking Pansy into silence. There was only one way to take that.

"Are you trying to suggest that Potter wants to join our ranks?" Blaise's ever calm voice broke the silence, and Granger glanced away for a moment, sucking her lower lip into her mouth in an obvious show of nervousness before turning back to them with her confidence back in place. Yet, it didn't matter how quickly or well the Mudblood had covered up her uneasiness, they had saw; Pansy had saw.

"Well, not exactly." Even her tone screamed hesitation. Pansy chanced a glance at Draco to see his stunning silver-grey eyes focused solely on Granger. He looked like his father. At that moment, Pansy remembered when they were younger, only six or seven, and Draco had asked for her hand in marriage. She could have loved him, she knew, but their friendship was good enough. One day, she would find someone that could love her back and until then, friendship would have to be enough.

"You see, he doesn't- he doesn't really have a side. The Light's going too far; pushing too much, and I think that if there's any chance that the Dark will allow it, this war might just be over now." Pansy blinked. Sure, they wanted Potter on their side, but if she really thought that they would treat him any better than the Light did then she was even more stupid than Pansy had thought.

"And what makes you think we'll be any better?" Draco leaned back in his chair, eyes still completely focused on the slightly bushy haired girl.

"You won't. If anything, you'll treat him worse, but that way he'll be able to finally get what he wants." Granger seemed almost as if she were talking to herself as she said that, but quickly snapped out of her little daze when she finished.

"What does he want?" Pansy couldn't simply quell the curiosity that arose at Granger's previous statement. The Gryffindor stared at Pansy for a few long moments before smiling.

"You'll see. So will he be welcome or not?" The three Slytherins exchanged a look before Draco took the lead once more.

"He is." At that simple statement, Granger's smile widened tenfold.

"Terrific! I'll go ask Harry." Pansy blinked dumbly as the Gryffindor stood and practically skipped towards the exit.

"Wait!" The female Slytherin called out, brows furrowing in confusion. Granger turned her head in question. "You mean to tell me this wasn't his idea?" Pansy could hardly believe that the goodie-two-shoes Head Girl had actually gone behind her _Savior's_ back to meet with them and to talk about him, no less!

"He doesn't have a clue." And then she was gone. Slowly, Pansy's eyes trailed over to Draco, and then to Blaise, before traveling back to the door. Somehow or another, Pansy knew that the day would only get worse from there.

**(***Bellatrix Black***)**

Bellatrix grinned, a slightly insane glint entering her eyes, as her Lord gave her permission to attend the tournament. It didn't matter that Rodolphus had to be by her side the entire time or that she had to take a Polyjuice Potion. _She could go_!

"And, Bellatrix." Her dark, grey-brown eyes immediately went to the Dark Lord's ever regal face.

"Yes, Milord?" Bellatrix's tone was eager, uncaring of just how many purebloods saw her express such emotions.

"Play nice with your cousin." The taunting tone that Bellatrix would have cursed most for had her grinning happily, not even caring that she would have to face her dreaded cousin once more.

"Yes, Milord." She wanted to ask if she could do anything else for him, but refrained. It was impolite to speak to a Lord unless spoken to and there would surely be punishment if she overstepped her boundaries.

"Good. Now go and take your potion from Rodolphus." The command sounded much like he was speaking to a small child that had put his or her toys away properly for the first time. It was degrading, but Bellatrix didn't care. Any attention from her Lord was good attention. With a quick nod, she sauntered past the other Inner-Circle Deatheaters – not including Severus, for he was already at the tournament, or Rodolphus, for he was fixing her Polyjuice Potion – with a wild grin. They all wished to be in her position, to have gotten precious face-time with the Dark Lord. They all envied her, just as they should, for she was in a position to be envied. Soon, she would be back in the Dark Lord's bed, where she belonged, and never would anyone doubt her again; never would Rodolphus be able to control her every move again. She easily made her way through the Malfoy house, eager to get her time with Rodolphus over with and return to her Lord's side.

**(***Narcissa Malfoy***)**

Narcissa watched Bellatrix go with guarded eyes. Her sister had never been quite sane, but the glint in her eye was even worse than usual. Wheels were turning in the pretend-Lestrange's mind, and Narcissa knew that it meant nothing good for the rest of them.

"Narcissa." Blue-grey eyes immediately focused on the undeniably incredible form of the Dark Lord. She didn't speak, as his tone was meant to gain her attention, not her voice. "Come with me." Slowly, she made her way through the ranks of Deatheaters, the ones who were not commanded to move. Narcissa didn't doubt that they would be in that exact position whenever they returned. Yet, she didn't dare look back to see the jealousy in their eyes. They wanted his attention, and though the feeling she got from the Dark Lord simply looking at her was thrilling, she would gladly hand that very same attention over to anyone else. Instead, Narcissa followed the Dark Lord out of the room, keeping her head down and tongue tied.

"Look at me, Narcissa." His deep, flowing voice soothed Narcissa's ears, much like his magic did as it fell over her, encasing her in a tomb she didn't want to escape like an addicting drug. Instantaneously, she looked up to meet intelligent crimson orbs. "You have an important task ahead of you, Narcissa; a very important task." Narcissa tried to ignore the feeling of exhilaration that welled up in her stomach at the thought of pleasing the Dark Lord. She wasn't like the rest of the sniveling fools that kissed his boots. Of course, she knew her place and knew it well, but that didn't mean she let her need to please him rule her life. At least, she tried not to.

"You are going to tip the young Potter's view on the Dark Arts." Narcissa questioned Voldemort's order with her eyes, but didn't dare speak up. How could she change his views? "He listens to his Godfathers. Rodolphus clearly has your cousin covered, but the werewolf is a different matter entirely." Blue-grey eyes widened as Narcissa fought with herself. She wanted more than anything to make the Dark Lord happy, but, at the same time, couldn't stand the thought of betraying the werewolf. The once-Black cursed herself as she held her tongue; her need for self-preservation winning out over her morals. She would give up anything for Draco, but what did she know about Remus? He wasn't worth the risk. Besides, if she refused then, if he didn't somehow force her into agreeing, he would simply assign it to someone else. With what felt like a mouth full of cotton, Narcissa responded.

"Yes, my Lord." Yet, as usual, the Dark Lord knew that something was off. Instead of cocking an eyebrow – questioning her like so many others would do – he narrowed his eyes. The crimson orbs seemed to see right into her very soul. She could have scoffed at her thoughts. It didn't_ seem_ as if he could see into her very soul; he _could_ see into her very soul! Damn her inability to become an Occlumens. A glint appeared in the crimson orbs before disappearing - most likely because he had found whatever he was looking for.

"We're finished here, Narcissa, but you must know something before you go." The female Malfoy kept her eyes trained on the Dark Lord's; keeping the wariness in her eyes hidden beneath well-constructed shields. It didn't matter that he already knew all of her emotions, probably better than she did. To show such things was a terrible sign of weakness. "Disappoint me and your son will pay the price." Quickly, Narcissa steeled her emotions.

"Yes, my Lord." It didn't matter that her voice was barely above a whisper. Her message reached him just as his had reached her. For her son, she would trick Remus into trusting her and then betray his trust as soon as the little Potter boy was too wrapped up in Voldemort to care, just like all of the other Deatheaters. For a moment, she remembered the way that the last remaining Potter had smiled just before getting on the train; nothing but pained innocence. She felt horrible pang of guilt for sacrificing the boy to the Dark Lord, but it was survival of the fittest, and her son was at stake. Besides, it wasn't like Potter had parents to miss him. With the wellbeing of her son in mind, Narcissa pushed her morals and feeling on the matter to the side and left to take her place within the ranks of the Deatheaters. They were nowhere near out of the woods yet.

**(***Lucius Malfoy***)**

Lucius watched his wife reenter the room, noticing the way her eyes were harder than stones right off of the bat. Whatever the Dark Lord wanted, she didn't like it. Mentally, Lucius gave a scowl. It was obvious that she had agreed by the way she was still standing, but that didn't concern him. What concerned Lucius was the fact that, if she ended up getting an idea stuck in her head, she could ruin everything. It had been their parents that had brought Lucius and Narcissa together, trapping them in a horrid thing called marriage. If it had been up to Lucius he never would have married the headstrong, caring Narcissa Black. He would have married someone that would listen to him; do as he said when he said it. If it weren't for the political scandal that would have occurred, they would have divorced years ago. She walked over to the spot beside of him quietly, not so much as looking at him before turning around. He didn't dare speak to her, as they were not yet dismissed. She would answer all of his questions by the time the tournament was over. With seemingly limitless grace, the Dark Lord glided back into the room; power flowing from his being.

That was what Lucius craved: power. He craved the nearly inconceivable supremacy which the Dark Lord held over everyone. More than that, he craved the Dark Lord. Only once had Lucius been taken to the man's bed, but once was enough. Now, it was all he thought about. All Lucius wanted was to be in that position again; to feel the Dark Lord's magic – his _power_ – rushing through every last molecule like an inexplicably wonderful virus. The head of the Malfoy household snapped out of his musings as crimson orbs met his own cloudy grey. He didn't need to ask to know that the man knew everything that he had just thought.

"Leave me." His voice held a nonchalant tone to it, but no one questioned the order. Soon, he would wield that ability as well. Just as soon as he took Rodolphus's place as the Dark Lord's right hand, they would listen to what he said. Dark, cunning brown eyes flew through Lucius's mind and he could have growled. Oh, how he hated Rodolphus. He hated the nearly lazy indifference with which the man carried himself; hated that the elder male was stronger than him and knew it. Lucius hated everything about Rodolphus right down to the fact that he had gotten the responsibility of watching over Bellatrix. He didn't like the insane Black, but it was a responsibility that the Dark Lord himself had handed out. As the last two Inner Circle Deatheaters filed out of the room and shut the door behind them, Lucius allowed himself a sneer. Soon enough, he would get what he wanted, no matter who tried to get in his way in the process.

**(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)**

Rodolphus watched Lucius's magic unconsciously spike in anger from behind the pages of a book as he led Bellatrix down the long, spiral staircase. The Malfoy was irate, but about what? With nearly as much ease as the Dark Lord, Rodolphus slipped into the eldest male Malfoy's mind. Not many knew that he was a skilled Legilimens, and he wanted to keep it that way, but that didn't mean he couldn't use it on the idiots who wouldn't notice. It wasn't like the platinum blonde was Severus or anything. The thoughts and images that Rodolphus found in Lucius's mind didn't come as a surprise to him. Most Deatheaters revered him for his power and closeness to the Dark Lord, but there were always the select few that chose to envy him. Still, the complex plans to take him out were a bit much. Well, they would be if there was actually a chance of him succeeding.

Rodolphus could have scoffed at the thought of Lucius actually overpowering him. The only people that could kill Rodolphus were Voldemort and Dumbledore. At least, as far as Rodolphus knew. He supposed it didn't really matter as Lucius Malfoy fell into neither the category of people that he knew could kill him nor the category of people that he didn't know that could kill him. Just as quickly and quietly as he had went in, Rodolphus escaped from Lucius's mind. The remaining Deatheaters stared at him, at him and at Bellatrix, who no longer looked like Bellatrix. Instead, she looked like a muggle that they had captured and killed. Rodolphus wasn't completely sure why the Dark Lord had wanted all of his Inner Circle Deatheaters to attend the tournament, but he did. It was just as well considering that Bellatrix would be on her best behavior, as she always was when Voldemort was around. The fact that her ever enticing cousin would be there helped, too. His lips nearly twitched upwards at the thought of their last meeting. Sirius didn't despise being ignored like Bellatrix or ignore him back like Narcissa. No, the young Black had simply gone on like Rodolphus had been giving him his full attention. Sure, he had been carefully listening to the nonsensical stories which Sirius had spouted, but he had also been monitoring the magic downstairs and reading. There was no way that he could have known that Rodolphus was actually paying attention, and that only served to interest him all the more.

"Rodolphus." Narcissa gave him a nod, which he absently returned, before turning to her sister. Something was troubling her, and Rodolphus was willing to bet Bellatrix that their Lord had something to do with it. Dark brown eyes blinked at the thought. That wasn't a very good analogy considering he would bet her whether he would win or not; especially if not. Quickly, to himself, Rodolphus fixed the analogy. He was willing to bet _Sirius_ that the Dark Lord was the cause of her troubled thoughts. Yet, the Lestrange didn't bother going into her mind like he had her husband's. He was already fairly sure of what had been assigned to her. "Bellatrix." Narcissa's soft voice continued, completely unaware of Rodolphus's thoughts. He didn't have to turn around to know that the once-muggle's-face was spilt into a crazed grin.

"It's Alison now, Cissa!" A not-so-sane giggle followed the statement, which Rodolphus ignored completely. He had dealt with her odds and ends for the past seventeen years. There was nothing that she could possibly do that would startle him. "Rodolphus is going to-" Quickly, easily, Rodolphus cut her off.

"No." He was not going to take her to the Dark Lord for his approval. Her transformation had been perfect. A sneer appeared on thin lips as transfigured blue eyes narrowed.

"I didn't even-" Again, Rodolphus stopped her in her tracks.

"No." His voice was a smooth deadpan that had Bellatrix giving a quiet scream of frustration.

"Stay out of my mind!" She had come across his Ligilimency skills quite a while back, and had used that to excuse her predictability. He didn't have to delve into her mind to know what she was thinking. Seventeen years spending every waking moment in her presence was plenty enough to do that. Yet, besides a curious glance from Narcissa, no one paid the shouted words any mind. Bellatrix was completely and totally insane, destroying any and all credibility that they might have otherwise put into her words.

"I'm not in your mind, Alison." He was blunt and to the point, knowing expertly well that it would only annoy her more. Short, curly blonde locks bounced as the still-Black-female turned angrily toward him. She opened her mouth to scream something at him, but Narcissa's soft voice stopped her.

"If I remember correctly, a Polyjuice potion only lasts for only an hour, and takes a month to brew. Am I wrong?" Rodolphus simply raised his brows a bit, preparing to respond. Bellatrix saved him the effort.

"Rodolphus made a new potion; one just like a Polyjuice potion but different!" And then she stopped, almost like a rollercoaster running off of the tracks: abrupt and unexpected. Narcissa's eyes turned curiously to meet Rodolphus's own orbs of sight. He merely gave an almost shrug in response. Just like his Legilimens/Occlumens skills, most didn't know of his ability to tamper with potions. Rodolphus, all in all, was better than Severus, though not nearly as good as the Dark Lord. Ah well, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt Rodolphus.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

"I'm finished!" Sirius held up his cleaned plate, as if to prove a point, and Remus gave a soft smile.

"I can see that." In fact, the animagus was making that small fact fairly hard to ignore.

"So can we go yet?" Blue eyes rose to meet pleading brown.

"No." Remus himself hadn't finished eating, and he wasn't planning on leaving until he had. Pointedly ignoring the disappointed whining noise that Sirius was making, Remus continued to eat. Though he didn't show it nearly as much, Remus was just as excited about seeing Harry again; just as anxious about how the tournament was going to go down. He knew that his Godson was powerful. He knew that if it came down to it, he wouldn't stand a chance. He knew that Harry was too gentle to put that power into good use. Harry would win, Remus didn't doubt, but he would do it without hurting the others. At least, Remus was fairly sure that he would do it without hurting them. With the way that things had been going, there was no telling just how close to the edge Harry was standing. Yet, Remus wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

If Harry let his full power show then Voldemort would see; would want him more. Just the same, he would find that there was a large possibility of Harry not being able to defeat him. Remus, personally, didn't know the extent of his Godson's power, but his werewolf side could smell it; could smell the magic practically dripping off of him. But was that enough? Could Remus's claims of Harry being able to defeat Voldemort stand in the light or would they wither away to nothing in the face of something –_ someone_ – more powerful? He wasn't sure that he wanted to find out. Just the same, Remus finished eating, clock on the wall reading a quarter to seven as he did. It was time for them to depart for Hogwarts, and depart for Hogwarts they would. For better or for worse, they would stand by Harry. Remus could only hope that it would be enough.


	8. Chapter Eight

_**Author's Note:**____ I laughed forever because this is the first time a reviewer has ever told me that I should get more reviews. It'd be nice, but I write for fun. Either way, thanks for cheering me up, Mr. or Miss Anonymous (__**Nick**__)._

_**Disclaimer:**____ I own my laptop. That's it… Okau, I own some Cheetos, too, but nothing else! I promise! _

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom gave a shaky smile as he walked onto Hogwarts grounds. His charmed, eighty-five year old body shook with fake tremors while he leaned heavily on the wooden cane. Even from there, Harry's magic rushed at him, making breathing enjoyable again. It was nowhere near as glorious as the feeling he had gotten when he had been in the potions classroom, which the young man spent hours in every day, but it was still there. Slow, paced steps walked up to the Quidditch Pitch. Narcissa held onto his arm to keep him steady, just like she would have for a true relative in his or her older years. Lucius strode stiffly on his other side with Bellatrix and Rodolphus behind them. Bellatrix was fully disguised from the Polyjuice potion, just as Rodolphus was disguised with a simple charm. Tom, by far, had the most complicated disguise, what with having to hide even his magic, but he didn't care.

"Narcissa, Lucius, good to see you've made it." Dumbledore's nearly hoarse voice came from in front of them, just like his horribly light magic. "And… why, I don't believe I've met the rest of your group." Tom could feel Harry's magic. It was less than a mile away and waiting to be taken, just like the boy. Easily, Tom formed a kind smile on his lips and looked Dumbledore directly in his twinkling blue eyes.

"I'm James, a distant cousin a Lucius, and those two," he gave a shaky motion with his right hand, left leaning even more heavily on the cane, "are my children: Alison and Daniel." They both nodded in greeting, like good children would. Dumbledore's smile widened further.

"Ah, the joys of family. I do suppose I'll let you be on your way, if you don't mind." A soft chuckle followed the old coot as he walked away. Dumbledore knew. Tom knew by the way that Dumbledore had looked at him that he knew. Yet, the old man hadn't made a scene, instead choosing to let them pass, probably to let them see a taste of his weapon's power. Dumbledore didn't know that Tom was well aware of that power and had come to take it for himself. Ah, well, some things he would just have to find out on his own. So, at that same, steady pace, they continued. By the time the small group actually reached the Pitch, the stands were nearly full. Tom steered them in the direction of the werewolf, intent on furthering his plans. When the two groups – one of two, the other of five – met, the youngest male Black was the first to speak.

"Cissa," the man pointed to Narcissa, "Malfoy," the index finger moved over to Lucius, "Rudy," then to Rodolphus, "Bellatrix," again, it moved to the proper person, "and random guy. Moony, who's this one?" This time a thumb was jabbed in Tom's direction. If they were anywhere else, Tom probably would have used _Crucio_ on him. He doubted that there would be any dispute over his identity if he did so. Before Lupin answered, Narcissa questioned him.

"How?" She was obviously referring to his knowledge of Rodolphus and Bellatrix. A wide grin broke out on the Black male's face.

"Bellatrix's still got that 'look-at-me-I'm-insane' glint in her eyes and Rudy still carrying himself with such a lazy, nonchalant posture that he couldn't be anyone else." He explained it all like it was the resolution to the war, which, clearly, it wasn't.

"_Rudy_?" Tom didn't have to look to know that Lucius's upper lip was curling in distaste. The infamous Black grin only got wider.

"It suits him, doesn't it?" The animagus undoubtedly thought so.

"No." The answer came from four mouths at once – Lucius, with disgust lacing the word, Narcissa, who sounded just as amused as the werewolf, and Rodolphus himself, who simply sounded bored – but Sirius Black wasn't deterred in the least.

"Yes, I thought so, too. So, again, who's that? C'mon, Moony! I promise not to tell!" Dark amusement glinted in charmed green eyes at the promise. For just a moment, they flashed crimson; all the answer that the young Black required. The fun was about to begin.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco strode onto the long platform with a smug grin that didn't completely fit his face. He wasn't feeling nearly as self-assured as he looked. In fact, he would almost go as far to say that he was nervous. Almost. Thankfully, excitement overrode that feeling. He was going to face Harry Potter, and if there was any truth in the Weasel's words, he was going to win. The Boy Who Lived stepped slowly onto the opposite side of the platform, wand held almost limply at his side. Potter didn't look like he wanted to duel. Somehow, that helped to calm Draco's uneasiness, if only just a little. At Severus's signal, they both went towards the center, bowed, and walked back. Draco knew that his stance was perfect, as Severus himself had been his instructor, but Potter was a completely different story. It seemed to have degraded since Second year as Potter simply stood there, looking almost relaxed, with his wand pointed directly at Draco. The young Malfoy's grin became slightly more genuine.

"Begin!" Severus's voice echoed under a _Sonorus_ _spell_. Potter's didn't. It barely reached Draco's ears, right along with a well-aimed spell.

"_Petrificus Totalus_." The words were a whisper on the wind. Draco went down before he could so much as blink. What the hell? Embarrassment burned in Draco's mind as his eyes locked onto his father's. Disappointment was there, but anger was dominant. His father wasn't happy and there was no doubt in Draco's mind that he would be paying for his failure later. Neither the roar of the crowd nor the counter curse reached his ears. The only thing he saw were his father's eyes until a hand broke the contact. Potter's hand. The bastard was offering him help standing up. Surprisingly enough, Draco had the urge to take the help. But as Draco's pride welled up in his stomach, he slapped the hand away and stood before walking off with as much dignity as he could muster. Damn it all to hell.

**(***Narcissa Malfoy***)**

Narcissa watched her son get up, his confidence gone. His pride: destroyed by loss. His dignity: crushed by the final bout of offered help. The Dark Lord had gotten his revenge. Draco had been humiliated. _Lucius_ had been humiliated. But who would pick up the pieces? Narcissa couldn't; not with all that was on her plate; not with the Dark Lord hovering over her shoulder. Lucius _wouldn't_. If anything, he would make it even worse. That left it all up to Severus. Blue-grey eyes shut calmly as the next contestants went up on the platform. A light hand placed itself gently on her shoulder, causing her to open her eyes.

"He's going to be alright, Narcissa." Remus. Remus Lupin. His words were as kind and open as his beautiful blue eyes. For the first time in a long time, Narcissa felt like she could trust someone.

"Of course he is. He's a Malfoy." Lucius's cold voice cut through the moment, but Remus didn't stop smiling.

"So he is." Remus's voice held the same warm smile that his face did. With that, Remus leaned back over into his seat, breaking eye contact with the female Malfoy. His hand remained. Narcissa's lips twitched mentally upward behind her mask. Perhaps, as long as he was there, things would be alright. Pained, light grey eyes flashed through her mind. Perhaps.

**(***Blaise Zabini***)**

Blaise looked at Draco without pity, for that would do nothing other than shame the youngest Malfoy even more. It didn't matter to him that his best friend had been beaten. What mattered to him was that Hermione had been telling the truth. Even if he lasted against Potter's first attack, there was no way that he could beat the younger boy. Sure, Blaise couldn't see magic like a few of the older Deatheaters could, but there was definitely something in the air.

"Draco?" Draco didn't respond, too busy sulking to even lift his head. Blaise continued on as if he had. "How serious do you think the Dark Lord is about Potter?" Again, the Malfoy heir offered no answer. Dark, Italian eyes turned to meet silvery grey. At least Draco was looking up. "If he is then your failure will only make him more interested in Potter. In a way, you're helping the Dark Lord get what he wants." Something flashed behind light grey eyes at that thought. A smirk with a tint of smile fell onto Draco's lips.

"Do you think I'll get a reward?" For once, the Malfoy heir was joking, and that evoked a small smile from Blaise.

"No." And then everything seemed alright again, if only for the moment.

"Next up is Blaise Zabini," Blaise looked up, prepared to take his seventh win of the night, "and Hermione Granger." The smile vanished. So much for seven being a lucky number.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione could practically hear herself swallow as she stepped onto the platform. She was fighting her new crush in front of her lost love for the sake of her best friend. Why did things have to be so complicated? Quickly, she walked towards Blaise and gave a bow.

"Good luck." Good luck, indeed. Blaise nodded, apparently not in the mood to give a verbal response. Hermione turned on her heels, Blaise doing the same in her mind's eye. They swirled back around to face each other, Hermione immediately zoning in on Blaise's stance, trying to find a hole in his defenses. There were no faults. Chocolate brown eyes narrowed. There weren't any faults _yet_. Everyone slipped up. It was human nature. All she had to do was wait for him to do just that.

"Begin!" Professor Snape's deep, wonderful voice flowed from thin lips in that quiet way of his, amplified only by magic, not adrenaline.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

"_Stupefy_!" Their spells were called out simultaneously, amazingly, but neither blast hit its target.

"_Salvio Hexia_."Hermione cast a protection charm, just in case. After all, the best offense was a good defense, correct?

"_Obscuro_!" A blind fold quickly wrapped itself around Hermione's eyes, blocking her vision.

Instantaneously, Hermione cast a _Supersensory charm_ on herself, heightening all of her senses by an incredible amount. She felt the next spell coming towards her easily, eliminating the need for sight. Her new instincts kicked in before her mind could, allowing her to propel herself over the harmful beam of magic. Putting her now sensitive hearing to good use, Hermione listened for his footsteps. She forgot about the crowd. She forgot about the teachers. She forgot about Harry. _Step_.

"_Incarcerous_!" The gold and red clad girl swung around before casting her spell. _Thump_. Color rushed back to Hermione as the magical blindfold released her. She didn't smile.

"_Immobulus_." Somehow, the spell that rendered Hermione immobile, that lost her the duel, sounded seductive when whispered like that. Swiftly, she berated herself for thinking such a thing at such a time. She had just lost! Blaise had tricked her, knowing that she had been relying on her earing to find him. Blaise Zabini had outsmarted Hermione Granger. It wasn't nearly as horrible as Hermione had thought it would have been.

"Winner: Blaise Zabini." There was Snape's voice again, smooth as silk and cold as Antarctica. Damn her sensitive hearing.

**(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)**

Rodolphus watched Potter step onto the platform yet again with something akin to fascination. The boy had faced eleven people already, and not one of them had managed to land a single hit. Magic, magic without a trace of Light or Dark flowed from him like sprays of water from a crashing wave: just enough to taste and taunt, but not enough to satisfy. It was no wonder that the Dark Lord was so interested in him. The boy was positively entrancing. Every move made was unpredictable yet completely calculated. Personally, Rodolphus wasn't sure if he would actually want to face Potter. Yet, at the same time, he had an itch to do just that. Under a variety of dangerous spells, would Potter change his tactics? Would the boy dare fire a deadly spell if his life were at stake? Rodolphus hoped so. A Dark spell used by that strange, _pure _magic would be simply delicious.

"He's not even trying." Sirius's voice shone with pride as he said those words.

"What?" That was impossible. Intense planning was put into every move. Rodolphus could tell by the way he held himself in complete confidence.

"Sirius is right. He's not trying. Harry just wants it to be over." Lupin spoke next, making Rodolphus frown lightly.

"Impossible. The boy has obviously been practicing nonstop for this." Lucius's disbelieving tone announced Rodolphus's doubt. Sirius's barking laughter insulted their idea.

"Are you kidding me? He's just toying around! Harry has been able to kick my arse in a duel since Fifth year! And I'm amazing! Just wait, I've got a feeling the next duel going to be a lot more exciting than this." Rodolphus took his eyes off of Potter, who was walking off of the platform victorious yet again, for a moment to see Sirius's large grin. When he looked, he also got a glance of the Dark Lord, leaning forward on his cane but not to act, to get closer to Potter; to get a better taste of Potter's magic. Charmed green eyes followed the boy's lithe body as he practically strode off of the platform for a short rest right before the final duel. Harry Potter had somehow managed to pull off what many a man spent years trying to do: capture the Dark Lord's attention. And captured it was. Even after Potter's body vanished from sight, charmed green eyes were staring. Suddenly, Rodolphus knew that he wouldn't get the chance to face Harry Potter any time soon. To the extent that Rodolphus was concerned, Potter was as good as the Dark Lord's.

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron gripped his wand with slightly sweaty palms, only just beginning to feel nervous. He had already beaten twelve other students, proving that he was, in fact, a good dueler, but Harry was, too. And Harry was his next opponent; his last opponent. They were the only two left, and Ron was having second thoughts. What seemed like ages ago, Harry and he had been the best of friends. What had happened to them? A not large yet not small hand fell onto Ron's shoulder.

"You're doing wonderful, Ronald." Percy's voice wasn't comforting, but Ron welcomed it with open arms. He had to know that this wasn't all for nothing.

"What if… What if we're wrong?" That fear had been weighing down on him throughout the entire tournament. The fingers – bony fingers, he noticed lightly – curled tightly on his shoulder bone.

"We're _not_ wrong, Ronald. Harry's been tricking you; tricking all of us. It's your job to stop him before he truly turns to the Dark. It's your job to set him straight." Ron clenched his eyes shut. He still didn't realize why being horrible to Harry would set him straight.

"But… How do you know?" Sure, he was jealous. Ron was extremely jealous of the Boy Who Lived, but that didn't mean he didn't still care for what used to be his best friend.

"He's been stealing your glory since First year, trying to undermine the Ministry of Magic since Second year, and trying to steal Hermione from you since Third!" Ron's anger flared once more at that. His anger against Harry had never been an act, but before last year it had always been contained. There had always been reasons to trust Harry that trumped the reasons not to. Now, those reasons were gone. But Percy had assured they would come back in time, and that if they didn't, at least Hermione would. "He's no good, Ronald. You have to stop him. For the Ministry's sake. For Hermione's sake." Any unsure emotions that Ron had carried vanished at Percy's final words.

It was for Hermione. And, as he walked out to the platform, heard everyone cheering – cheering for whom? It seemed as if they all wanted Harry to win. Again, jealousy reared its ugly head, pairing up with anger to turn Ron into the person he had been for the past two years, all goodness buried deep within him. Harry wasn't meant to be a Savior, to be praised. Ron was! Ron pushed back the tears of loneliness, of need, and allowed the fury to take over. The past few days of training: dodging the Whomping Willow and practicing every light spell and curse he could come up with. It was all about to come to fruition. He was about to take down Harry Potter.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry walked onto the platform, his senses immediately zooming in on six magical signatures and a lack of magical signature. Four were easy to place names to: Remus, Sirius, Mr. Malfoy, and Mrs. Malfoy. The other two were a bit harder but not impossible. He could identify Bellatrix because her dark magic was sparking up crazily, just as it had when she had tried to stun Sirius into falling into the Veil. Lastly, Rodolphus could be identified by the lazy way his magic floated about him; threatening yet disarming, much like the Dark Lord's did at times. Lastly, it took an incredible amount of power to completely hide a magical signature. That made the old man with a lack of magical signature actually a young, immortal man with more power than most could imagine. Harry bowed at the waist without thinking, simultaneously planning on the easiest and least painful way to take out Ron. The red head would be nowhere near as easy to get rid of as the others. If not for the slight increase of skill than for the ties that Harry still felt bound them together.

"So it all comes to this…" Ron's voice sounded so serious that Harry couldn't help but smile. It was just a duel. Ron, apparently, didn't think the same thing. "What're you laughing at?" Red brows furrowed in confusion.

"Begin!" They didn't need to be told twice.

"_Stupefy_." Harry whispered unnecessarily. He had to show them some power, but there was no reason to let them know all of his secrets; like the facts that he could do silent and wandless magic for instance. Ron dodged with a barrel roll before shooting back an intense _Body Bind_. Harry quickly put up a shield charm in defense.

"_Protego_." The words felt right on his lips, no matter how pointless they were.

"Does this seem funny to you? The war? All the people getting hurt?" The Weasley's voice was an angry snarl as the man put out yet another blast of magic, more dangerous this time. Harry didn't bother putting up a shield as the magic brushed past his head, singing some of his hairs.

"Of course it doesn't! But how is that my-" Ron cut him off angrily by casting _Furnunculus_, which Harry ducked to dodge. Boils weren't exactly on his list of things to try on today. The last of the Potter line didn't even attempt to toss a spell back at him.

"What do you mean, how is it your fault! None of this would be happening if you hadn't survived in the first place!" And suddenly, the roar of the crowd wasn't so loud, and the happiness in his soul didn't shine so brilliantly. His once best friend wanted him…

"You wish I had died?" Harry's question was nothing more than a breathy whisper, but it seemed like so much more. It echoed in his mind and screamed in his ears. Certainly, Ron didn't hate him _that_ much, not after all that they had been through together. Certainly, Harry wasn't _that_ bad…

"Bloody hell, yes. If you wouldn't have survived then Professor Dumbledore could have killed You-Know-Who fully and we wouldn't be in this position right now! It's all your fault! _Expulso_!" Harry allowed the spellto knock him backwards, barely feeling the painful wound that had manifested itself in his chest. At least Ron hadn't put enough force behind it to kill him. Or perhaps he just wasn't powerful enough… The thought didn't settle well in Harry's stomach. "And if the rumors are true then we're in even more trouble!" Green eyes blinked as a _Diffindo_ rushed towards him, dodging more out of habit than anything else. The Severing Charm cut off a large chunk of the platform easily.

"Rumors?" It shouldn't have made a difference – there were always rumors circulating about Harry – but it did.

"About you. About you being the next Dark Lord. About you being _evil_!" And just like that, Harry's thin line of patience – the one he had been teetering over like a tightrope walker for the past few days – snapped. Why did everyone have to make him the bad guy when he did nothing other than mind his own business? Effortlessly, barely noticing the painful burning in his chest, Harry flexed his body backwards until he stood upright oh his hands before flipping back onto his feet.

"Are you really that _stupid_?" Harry snarled at Ron, feeling his magic flare up around him. The red head's mouth opened to form a retort, but Harry wasn't going to listen. Not anymore. "There's no such_ fucking_ thing! Good and evil, right and wrong, from whose perspective are you judging that!" Blue eyes narrowed at the question not in anger but confusion. "Do you really think that if I don't consider a muggle any better than a bug that I'm going to have a problem with killing them? _No. _Does that make me evil? _No._ It means I have a different perspective!" Those same blue eyes widened again, showing Ron's shock.

"You hate muggles? Merlin's Beard," the young Weasley took a step back, "maybe you really are the next Dark Lord…" This time, Harry's magic didn't just flare. It erupted. His magic flew out of his control for just a moment, knocking Ron backwards to the edge of the platform.

"You're not _listening_! Do you think it actually _matters_ whether it's the Light or the Dark that wins this war? Do you think that the same side will be in control one hundred years from now? Two hundred? _No_! Yeah, Voldemort was incredibly _stupid_ to so much as think about destroying all of the muggles, but that could have changed by now! You never know! _No one_ knows!" Not a single soul in the crowd was speaking. No children were crying. No people were moving. They were all focused on Harry. Ron quickly stood up.

"Wh-what do you mean?" He sounded unsure, scared, just like the multitude of people looked.

"Muggles outnumber wizards six fold. There are six billion people on the planet. Only one billion of them are wizards. One tenth of those wizards are muggleborn, just like one thousandth of the muggles are squibs. You would have to kill all of the squibs along with the muggleborns. That leaves us with eighty million wizards, and every generation will have at least ten thousand squibs. We'd have died out in no time." But the disgust didn't vanish from Ron's face. No immediate comprehension flashed across his face. Ron didn't get it.

"So you're on the Light's side?" Ron questioned, missing the point completely.

"No. The Light is just as wrong! What do you think will happen if muggles are alerted of the existence of magic, huh? Do you think they'll just accept it and everything will be fine and dandy? No! The Salem Witch Trials happened for a reason! The only reason that we don't want to murder muggles is because we're the ones with power! You fear the things you can't control and kill the things you fear! It wouldn't work!" Blue eyes widened, making Harry think that perhaps something had finally gotten through.

"Bloody hell… You've put a lot of thought into this." Ron breathed deeply, knuckles turning white from his tight grip on his wand. "You're totally _barmy_! The Ministry should have taken you away when they had the chance!" At that, the burning fury racing through Harry's veins froze over. It hurt to have enemies. It hurt to have friends. It hurt to be alone. Would it ever stop hurting? Harry didn't know. At that point, Harry didn't care.

"So you really believe that Light magic can't hurt you because it's good, and Dark magic can't help you because it's evil?" Harry questioned, voice quieted but not any less angry. From an onlooker's point of view, it probably sounded as cold as his eyes. Ron gave a quick nod of agreement, gripping onto his wand tighter still.

"Of course it can hurt you, just not break a bone or anything serious! Stunning spells and stuff like that can be used for defense!" Ron was as stubborn as he was stupid. Harry didn't so much as bat an eyelash.

"Fine. What was the very first bit of magic that we learned at Hogwarts?" It was a simple question, but the red head didn't have an answer.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Green eyes closed for a moment as the words were unnecessarily shouted before reopening them, an almost cruel glint shining through. People were watching. He needed to calm down, to think about what he was about to do and the consequences that it would bring, but he didn't.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_." At the whispered spell, Ron flew up into the sky, dropping his wand in the process. The Weasley went up and up, into the clouds and out of sight. One hundred feet. Two hundred feet. Harry stopped him, allowing the boy to panic for a moment. "Enunciate the _Leviosa_." And then Ron dropped. Ron fell towards the ground at an accelerating speed of 9.81 meters per second squared until he hit the ground. Luckily for Ron, Harry used his magic to cushion the body's impact. The Boy Who Lived wanted to teach him a lesson, not kill him. Not yet. "That was extremely Light magic, but don't worry. It couldn't have done anything serious like break a bone. Your arm isn't shattered and your leg isn't broken. Three of your ribs aren't cracked and you don't have internal bleeding. Sure, you would if it were a Dark spell, but it wasn't, so you're safe, right?" A pained groan was the only response. Ron had passed out. "Of course you are." His hand curled into a fist, nails biting into the palm of his hand. No roar of excitement broke out at his victory, but whispers, shouts, plot formed in the crowd, growing in their intensity with each second. They all doubted him; believed him evil.

And then Harry walked away, focusing on the self-inflicted pain in his palm rather than the Ron-inflicted pain in his chest; both mentally and physically. He walked until the castle was in sight, until he could the entire front of the magnificent castle. To think that they had been best friends for the past six years; that Ronald Weasley had been Harry's very first friend. That small fact raised the worry that Hermione would do the same one day. No matter how much he knew that she would never do that to him, the fear was still there: the fear of being completely and totally alone yet again. Fuck. He was losing control all over again. Harry closed his eyes and just as he felt a hand try to close around his arm, he disappeared; vanishing to his sanctum. The green eyed boy dropped to his knees in the ruins of his underground sanctuary, feeling a cold breeze brush his bangs out of his face; like the hand of death telling him not to worry. Slowly, he gave into that call, allowing his worries to freeze in the wind and break away, if only for a moment. Feeling cold, helpless, and hurt, Harry gave in. There, in the Chamber of Secrets, next to the bones of the Basilisk, Harry allowed himself to cry a single tear.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom Marvolo Riddle watched the spot where Harry had exited from with intense crimson-charmed-green orbs. He had been able to taste Harry's magic from his spot near the top of the stadium just as well as if they had been standing next to each other, and it was delicious. More than the magic, Harry's views had Tom's mind going at a thousand miles a minute. While he agreed that his ideas when he was younger weren't ideal, it didn't mean that Harry – or anyone else for that matter – could say such a thing. Now, he was simply going for complete, dominant separation. He would be recognized as the ultimate Dark Lord and have complete rule over all and separate the muggles and wizards entirely. Any muggle-born children would be taken away and adopted by a wizard or pair of wizards. Separation wasn't anywhere near as out of the question as Dumbledore seemed to think, and, apparently, Harry agreed on that aspect. It meant nothing more than that Potter wasn't going to be as useless as he had thought. The young man might even climb the ranks, once he learned his place, of course. In terms of power, he would easily trump Rodolphus, but Tom wanted loyalty as well as power. Only when the Granger girl – who had chased after Harry when he had left – walked over to them did he tear his eyes away.

"How's Harry doing?" Lupin questioned over the roar of the crowd. Immediately, some of the people around them quieted, trying to discreetly listen in on their conversation.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger, but perhaps we should go somewhere more private…" Narcissa cut in while sending an icy glare to the surrounding wizards. They looked away, as they should have, but didn't resume their conversations. Granger simply nodded. The group of eight – Tom, Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Lucius, Narcissa, Sirius, Lupin, and Granger – got through what Tom could tell was nearly a riot without being noticed, gaining three more people – Draco, Blaise, and Pansy – along the way. They slipped out of the Pitch noticed only by Albus Dumbledore, who Tom held eye contact with the old fool for a good few moments before walking away, still leaning heavily on his cane. Dumbledore wouldn't – couldn't – follow them. The man had a riot to deal with. Granger lead them all to what Tom remembered as the Room of Requirements, pacing in front of it three times before stopping to wait for the door to materialize itself. They didn't have to wait for long.

The room was white with eleven white chairs circled around one large, white table. Tea sat innocently in front of each chair in small, delicate white cups. Tom, rightfully, headed straight for the head of the table, losing his disguise, though not releasing his magic, on the way. By the time he got to his seat, eight out of the eleven people were on their knees. It was a pleasant sight. Yet, Tom wanted more. He wanted the other three to bow to him as well. He wanted full control.

"Rise and be seated." His followers did so with swift efficiency, leaving the three closest friends of Harry Potter standing in the same spots as when they had come in. Lupin turned to Granger before motioning to a chair, obviously knowing that this wasn't a battle he wanted to fight, before sitting himself down in between Sirius and Narcissa. All attention – besides the longing glances being cast at Tom – was on Granger.

"Harry's not well. The Light is turning on him, and," suddenly, the girl's mouth twisted into a snarl, "Mr. Malfoy, if you don't want to hear about Harry's well-being than I assure that there is enough force in this room to make you leave." Tom very nearly could have smirked at that one. Even he had seen the elder Malfoy's lips turn down in a sneer and he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to the younger male. Lucius schooled his face into that of neutrality before giving an obviously reluctant nod. "As I was saying, the Light's been turning against him. The problem is that if he doesn't start showing some loyalty to either Dumbledore or the Ministry of Magic soon, everyone's going to assume that he's on your side which, obviously, he isn't. What most people don't know is that he isn't all for the Light, either." Tom watched in curiosity as Blaise turned to Granger. Whatever information he received here would help him immensely in his quest to get Harry. That much he was sure of.

"What are you trying to say, Mudblood?" The question looked as if it was on the tip of the Italian's tongue, but Bellatrix beat him to it, throwing out an insult at exactly the wrong time. Tom reminded himself to teach the slightly insane female Black a lesson once they weren't in the middle of negotiating getting him what he wanted. Luckily, Granger didn't seem to take any offense. If anything, she held her head even higher.

"I'm saying that Harry is neutral." Quite abruptly, things got a great deal more complicated. It was easy to sway the beliefs of a person with an ambition. It was easy to plant ideas into the head of someone who just wasn't sure. It was _not_ easy, however, to convince someone who could easily see both the pros and the cons of each side well enough to know that joining a side would do no good. It was much harder to put out something worthwhile that would have a neutral person convinced to give in to a certain side.

"But he's always been neutral. Why is it so important that he pick a side _now_?" Sirius intervened, clearly not happy with the predicament his godson was being forced into.

"Because he doesn't have a choice anymore. The war is reaching its climax and both sides want him." Lupin replied to the question before Granger could so much as open her mouth.

"What does he want? What's enough to sway the great Harry Potter out of neutrality and over to the Dark side?" Draco inquired next, only light resentment in his voice. The Granger girl's eyes stared Draco down for a moment before turning to Tom. Her eyes held fear, determination, and compassion. Faintly, Tom was tempted to delve into her mind, but he quickly decided against it. There were always signs left behind when leaving a mind, and skilled Legilimens have no trouble picking them out. He wasn't about to risk Harry's alliance without so much as speaking to the young man first.

"A talk. He wants to talk with you. _Alone_." Tom could feel victory beneath his fingers as the condition was spoken. "He wants to know if your ideals match up to his better than Dumbledore's." If Tom weren't such an astounding Occlumens than the sweet feeling of triumph may have flashed through his eyes. "Agreed?" She was completely serious, but Tom could see her wavering as fear tried to get the best of her. It was an amusing sight, to say the least.

"Agreed." This, he was sure, would be fun.


	9. Chapter Nine

_**Author's Note:**____ For the people who want me to update more, I've updated eighteen times in less than three months. That's more than most can say. If there is a problem with that then that's just too bad, now isn't it? I have a life. The rest of you, hello again and have fun!_

_**Disclaimer:**____ Is it mine? No. Is it yours? Possibly. Is it awesome? Yes._

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus looked from Hermione to Voldemort and back over to Hermione again. This was dangerous; a little too dangerous for his likings. Yet the two seemed completely serious and even proud of themselves. It was like they were playing a game of chess and both had found a perfect opportunity for checkmate. The only problem being that Harry was the king on each individual side. It was just as obvious that Voldemort wasn't working for Harry's happiness and Hermione was. It was too bad that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. So, with the best of intentions, Remus stepped in. After all, how much worse could it get?

"I believe we should warn Harry about this little meeting first." His voice came out softly, but everyone heard. Voldemort showed no signs of caring, but Hermione blushed immediately.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I should have- I'll go-" She stopped abruptly, freezing just before reaching the door. "Um, we have a problem." Chocolate brown eyes glanced around the room before focusing on the floor. "I can't get to him." At that, Remus's brows furrowed.

"Well, why not?" Sirius asked the question after a few moments, but Hermione didn't look up.

"You see, when Harry wants to think, he goes to the Quidditch Pitch, but it's full of people and he doesn't just want to think. He wants to be alone. When Harry wants to be alone, he goes…" This time, she let her voice fade, clearly not comfortable saying where the Boy-Who-Lived was.

"Spit it out already, _Mudblood_!" Bellatrix near yelled; the insult added on with an insane grin. Remus watched Hermione carefully, but instead of the expected flinch, her head snapped up. Normally warm brown eyes were frozen in halfway controlled rage.

"When he wants to be alone, he goes to the Chamber of Secrets, where _only_ he can go." Immediately after the words escaped her lips, she closed her eyes tightly, visibly regretting it. "Damn it." Though the words were mere whispers under her breath, Remus's highly sensitive ears easily picked it up. "You can't go get him. That's his _sanctuary_. You can't ruin that for him." Though Remus was watching intensely, Hermione's eyes were focused on Voldemort. Blue eyes watched her lips tremble lightly, just as her voice had. No matter how protective she was of Harry, Hermione wasn't strong enough – mentally or physically – to stand up to the Dark Lord on her own. Voldemort ignored her, or, at least, ignored her words as he stood with a triumphant, almost lazy air about him. Crimson eyes zoned in on Hermione, most likely noticing the same things that Remus had.

"Can't I?"

"No, you can't. Harry is… When Harry wants to be alone, he gets left alone. You interrupt him and there's no telling what will happen to you." Granger's words sounded half threat and half warning. Voldemort paid her no heed as he walked towards the door, slowly shifting into his older form. If he was about to do what Remus thought he was about to do then the entire meeting was pointless.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco watched Voldemort leave the room with shielded grey eyes. With the Dark Lord out of the room, there was nothing stopping his father from going off.

"Draco?" The word was like burning silk from the eldest Malfoy's tongue, and Draco couldn't remember ever hating his name more than he did at that moment. "Were all of those dueling lessons for nothing?" The young blonde hated it when his father asked things like that, never knowing if the man actually wanted an answer or not. "_Well_?" Well what? Draco kept his face straight as he tried to think of a response to the now obviously non-rhetorical question. But what was he supposed to say? '_I'm sorry that Harry Potter, the bane of your existence, is a better duelist than I am_?' '_My bad, Father. I'll just add another hour or so of dueling to my already rigorous schedule. After all, eating isn't actually a necessity, right_?' Or, better yet, '_Don't worry, I swear that next time I'm completely humiliated by him I'll just commit suicide and you won't have to worry about political scandal anymore_!' Yeah, that would blow over well…

"It really wasn't his fault, Mr. Malfoy." Granger stepped in yet again, most likely deciding that since Potter wasn't there to play hero she would have to do it instead. Two pairs of grey eyes turned to the only Mudblood in the room with equally frightening glares. Both were warning her to mind her own business. She didn't listen. "Harry's powerful. Not even you would have stood a chance against him." For a spilt second, Draco's glare turned pleadingly to Blaise, but was back on Granger at full force less than a moment later. Blaise wouldn't step in. He knew better. He knew that fighting back against the Head of the Malfoy House would only make things worse in the end.

"I'd prefer you didn't put me down to your level, Mudblood. There is no way that a child could defeat me." Granger didn't back down, and as thankful as Draco was not to have to deal with his father at the moment, he knew that it would only get worse as time went on. Minutes passed before a sneer etched itself onto Lucius's face and the man unfolded his tall body from its seating position. "Narcissa, Draco, come." Quite clearly, his father was not pleased. With a feeling of dread in his stomach, Draco stood. Out of his peripheral vision, Draco saw Narcissa's comforting, perfectly manicured hand come towards his shoulder. It didn't make it. Instead, a larger, more menacing hand gripped his shoulder blade, causing him to internally wince. Damn the Mudblood for sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Granger looked from the three Malfoys to the other members of the room, none of which looked ready to step in. They all knew their place; all knew Draco's place. It was hopeless.

"You know, Hermione, he's right." The werewolf's voice echoed throughout the room with light humor, causing Lucius to pause and the hand on his shoulder to tighten. Draco risked a glance at his old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The man had a humorless smile taped to his face. "There's no way that a child could defeat him. Why else would he take out his anger on a boy who's seen a mere seventeen summers?" At that, the grip became bruising. "Why else wouldn't he go against someone his own size; his own age?"

"Is that a challenge?" Lucius barely waited a moment before questioning the ex-professor with an ice cold voice. The noticeably fake smile didn't waver.

"It's possible." At Lupin's words, the room changed around them, transforming into a dueling platform and standing space around it. The hand gave a painful squeeze before letting go.

"Fine. Allow me to show my son what _real _dueling is." And then the eldest Malfoy separated his wand from his cane, shoving the cane part into Draco's hands immediately after. Draco hated that cane, wanted to drop it like it was on fire, but he didn't. The consequences would be greater than the relief. Rodolphus stood in the middle of the platform, charm removed, with a nearly amused look on his face. On each end stood a man itching for a win, but while Draco's father looked confidant, the werewolf had an almost bitterly calm aura about him.

"This is a no bars match between Lucius Malfoy and Remus Lupin. For the sake of avoid the Dark Lord's wrath, please try and avoid killing each other." Boredom laced the Lestrange's words, but Draco had long before learned to read between the lines. Rodolphus was completely serious, and didn't just want to avoid the wrath of the Dark Lord. He knew that if Draco's father killed Lupin then Potter would be at someone's throat. Rodolphus could see just like Draco could, just like Lucius couldn't, that Potter didn't get lucky. Potter was powerful, and Granger was right. None of them would stand a chance. At least, Draco would like to think that none of them would stand a chance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco believed that if Potter joined the Dark side then he could re-extend his hand and that, maybe, Potter would accept the offer this time. But who knew, perhaps Rodolphus could beat Potter? After all, he was the Dark Lord's right hand man. Draco let a small sigh slip through his lips; through his mask. Was it sad that somewhere inside he was still a First year wanting to gain a new friend?

"Begin." Rodolphus's almost lazy voice interrupted Draco's thought process, leaving him wondering how he had missed the entire beginning process.

"_Avis Oppugno_!" Lupin shouted simultaneously with Lucius's _Confringo _curse. A flock of birds flew from the werewolf's wand, heading in a dangerously quick formation for the Head of the Malfoy House. The blast of magic shooting from Lucius's wand caused most of the birds to burst into flames and fall harmlessly to the ground, but some escaped, refusing to be defeated so easily. A simple _Diffindo _got rid of the rest of them. Yet, while Draco's father was casting that, he didn't have time to do anything other than dodge the _Expelliarmus_ charm heading straight for him.

"Trust a supposedly dark being to try and use a simple disarming charm in a time like this." Blaise said from beside of him, barely heard over Sirius Black's shouts of encouragement towards 'Moony.'

"_Expulso_!" Draco watched in near amazement as his father was forced to dodge yet again. A piece of the platform exploded, blasting both small and large pieces against the wall. Faintly, Draco wondered if the wolf had forgotten about the whole 'don't kill your opponent' deal.

"_Incendio_!" Lucius shouted, his voice filled with anger. The flames burst from the eldest Malfoy's wand and covered everything on the other side of the room. Anything and everyone in its way was charred. Rodolphus moved out of the way quickly enough and both the ex-Auror and Draco's mother cast a protection charm over the rest of them while Bellatrix let out a less than sane laugh, covering Granger's horrified gasp and Blaise's interested hum. For a moment, the only thing in the room was fire, burning and eating away at the platform, at Lupin. On an off note, Draco wondered why Lupin wasn't screaming. That question was answered less than a moment later as said man rushed from the flames, completely unharmed. Yet, it wasn't a spell that the werewolf threw at Lucius, but a punch. Instantaneously, the fire stopped, and Lucius stumbled backwards, a bruise already forming on his face.

"_Immobulus_." The almost whispered word cast a spell that traveled less than an inch from the tip of Lupin's wand to Lucius's chest, knocking the man backwards and to the ground. In the safety of his mind, Draco felt satisfaction at his father's loss. "Don't worry, Lucius. That will wear off in a few hours." As Remus Lupin, ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts professor strode off of the platform and over to them, Draco felt an odd sense of respect forming in his chest. Truthfully, he wasn't sure whether to push it away or hold it close. A second later, the same wand that had defeated his father moments ago was pointed at him, more specifically, his shoulder.

"_Episkey_." The pain in his shoulder that Lucius's grip had inevitably caused vanished, leaving Draco gripping helplessly onto the growing sense of respect. Never before had anyone other than his mother stopped to heal him; tried to and succeeded in standing up to his father not out of some stupid sense of right and wrong, but for _him_. Without another word, Lupin left the room. Without any thought on his part, Draco followed, this time with a comforting, perfectly manicured hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. Strangely enough, he didn't feel even the smallest urge to look over his shoulder for a last look at his father.

**(***Lucius Malfoy***)**

Lucius watched with fury burning in his eyes as the werewolf walked out of the room; walked out of the room with _his_ family. Blaise followed after a moment more of staring at Lucius's almost lifeless form, Granger slipping her hand into his and twining their fingers just before leaving the room.

"Know your limitations, Lucius." Rodolphus spoke those words as if the loss was nothing, as if he had expected such an outcome. Perhaps he did. Lucius could never tell. Grey eyes saw feet step closer and closer, echoing against the tile floor effortlessly. A hand gripped onto his arm and rolled him over onto his back, onto the rubble that remained on the platform. The small pain was like salt in his wounds, adding pointless irritation to the ultimate humiliation. Yet, Rodolphus didn't stop and cast a simple counter curse to free him. "He's correct. It will wear off in a few hours." And, just like that, Rodolphus walked away. Two pairs of footsteps walked out of the room, though Lucius could no longer tell who they belonged to, his head turned towards the blank charred wall of the Room of Requirements. Off-key giggles bounced around the room, letting Lucius know that it had been Sirius Black who had followed Rodolphus out. At her laughter, Lucius began to think; to plot. He began to do the only thing he could. Soon enough, he would take his place at the top of society, where he was supposed to be, no matter who tried to get in his way.

**(***Sirius Black***)**

Sirius wasn't sure why he had stayed behind after Remus had left. That wasn't true. He had been waiting for Rodolphus, what he wasn't sure of was why.

"Why didn't you use a counter curse? Not that I'm complaining, since the git totally deserved it, but even Deatheaters have some sort of loyalty for each other, right?" Sirius asked, feeling much like Remus with his overpowering thirst for knowledge. Trust the Black Family curiosity to do that to you. Rodolphus turned to him, the concealing charm settled back over his body and eyes, and regarded him carefully.

"Some of us do." It was obviously a guarded answer, but Sirius was fine with that. Remus was the same way at first, just not quite so much. It didn't really matter considering Sirius was incredibly stubborn and had already dubbed the Deatheater a new friend. In the back of his mind, he knew that was a stupid decision, especially since Harry was possibly staying on the Light's side, or at least leaning more towards being on the Light's side, but he hadn't been able to resist. No, he had went against everything that his Auror training had taught him and was now trying to strike up a friendship with one of the most wanted men of their time. Truthfully, there was something about Rodolphus that was pulling Sirius in; something darkly entrancing that tugged at Sirius's magical interests. The Dark side of him, the Black side, wanted what Rodolphus was offering: to be released, to be used. Light magic was wondrous, but it wasn't satisfying. It didn't make him feel alive. In all reality, the reason that he had turned away from his family hadn't been because of his hatred of Dark magic, but because he saw what the Dark was doing to them. As much as he wanted to use the Dark Arts, he wanted to be himself more. Everyone in his family had gotten lost in the Dark Arts and the power that it had promised.

"You're not one of them?" Sirius would be slightly surprised if that were the case because that was where Rudy drew him in. Rodolphus Lestrange was definitely neck deep in the Dark Arts, but he remained in control.

"Faintly. I have my loyalties, but only to certain people. Lucius, however, does not." Sirius nodded as Rodolphus turned into a secret passageway that Sirius wasn't aware existed. Then again, they were in Slytherin territory. There was no way he could have known about it. They reached what looked to be an abandoned classroom turned Common room before Rodolphus spoke again, the charm melting away in the process. "And what about you? Do you have your loyalties?" There seemed to be an underlying question in the soft inquiry, but Sirius couldn't quite figure out what it was. So, deciding to trust his gut, Sirius answered anyways.

"Of course I do! I wasn't the greatest to my family, but I love my friends. Once I find someone, I won't betray them for the world, Rudy." Sirius grinned while saying that because it was true. He wouldn't let down his friends if his life depended on it. Brown eyes roved over Sirius with a strange intensity that the Black wasn't quite sure he understood.

"Good. And you want to learn the Dark Arts, don't you? More importantly, you want to learn how to control it." Sirius wasn't sure how Rodolphus knew that. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed the nearly husky tint to the older man's voice before. He wasn't sure why he was noticing it now. Sirius swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

"Yeah, um, Rudy? Why are we here?" Why was it suddenly so hard to think? Suddenly, those deep brown eyes were closer than they had ever been before, and Sirius was drowning in them.

"We're here to start your lessons." Sirius's breath hitched a bit. Lessons? "Yes, Sirius. Lessons." Damn. Had he said that aloud? A small chuckle told him that yes, he had said it out loud. "You want to learn about Dark Arts, don't you?" Steel grey eyes trailed down to Rodolphus's perfect lips as he said those words. They were so close. "Of course you do. You've just been waiting for an instructor worthy enough to teach you." Close enough to kiss. Rodolphus leaned even closer, his hot breath coming out evenly, something Sirius's seemed to have forgotten how to do. The lips got even closer, close enough to just barely brush against Sirius's own. "Isn't that right?" At that moment, Sirius knew that it was up to him. Rodolphus wasn't going to take him unless Sirius asked for it.

"I…" He _what_, exactly? He wanted to feel those soft lips on his own, wanted to know what it would be like to be consumed by the darkness which flowed so elegantly from Rodolphus's form? Suddenly, stormy grey eyes lost some of their haze. No. He didn't want to be consumed. He wanted to be in control. He wanted to be Sirius Black, not bow to the whim of someone else; do anything to get one more taste of that dark magic. "_No_." With that last, breathy whisper, Sirius pushed Rodolphus away and ran for all he was worth. Though he wasn't sure why he had to run, he did. He got away from Rodolphus and his entrancing eyes, away from the alluring smell of fruit and smoke, and away from those perfect lips. He wasn't sure why. But that didn't matter. He wasn't sure about a lot of things at the moment.

**(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)**

Rodolphus looked at the door which Sirius had ran through at a nearly break neck speed with hungry amusement in his eyes. While a certain part of his anatomy was disappointed that Sirius hadn't given in, the refusal had only managed to simulate the rest of him further. Oh, how he loved a chase. And what a chase it would be. He had seen the lust grow in Sirius's eyes, heard the man's heart speed up, felt the incredibly dark, unused magic trying to claw its way through the fragile shield of light magic. He had felt what would soon be his and loved it. The experience had only made his cravings grow stronger. And they would be satiated, he knew for sure. One of these days, Sirius Black would be his. All it would take was time. Rodolphus gave him a week.

There was a day to get over his loss of control. Two days to sort out his emotions. Three days to be courted. And a final day to be taken. Yes, Sirius Black had one week, and then he would belong to Rodolphus. A low chuckle fell out of his throat as Rodolphus eased into his favorite chair in the Slytherin's secret common room and pulled out what had once been his favorite book. With thoughts of Sirius panting beneath him running through his mind, Rodolphus began to read. Life had never been so good.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom wasn't going to go down to the Chamber of Secrets to find Harry. No, Harry didn't share his hatred for muggles. No, Harry didn't know or understand the pain that muggles had put him through, but if nothing else, Tom knew the importance of the Chamber of Secrets. He knew the safety and protection of the Chamber and, in that aspect, could see himself in Harry. He could see his seventeen year old self sitting and talking to the basilisk, dreaming of his soon-to-be-rule. For a moment, Tom wondered if Nagini would like Harry. Certainly, she would enjoy having someone else to speak to. It was a frivolous thought that had Tom's old man form giving a shaky smile. A random student smiled back at him. She had a Hufflepuff's uniform and was obviously contemplating over something important. Most likely her views on the war; on Harry Potter. Everyone he had seen so far seemed to be doing that. They were all rethinking what had once been definite and unquestionable morals. Tom found it one of the most amusing things he had seen in a century. Minutes passed endlessly before Tom finally reached his target: Severus Snape. The man didn't bow, though the respect and fear showed in his eyes. Tom knew without a doubt that if they were alone, the Potions Master would be on the ground.

"Ah, Severus. It's good to see you again. Might we have a chat?" Tom's voice shook like a kindly old man's should; full of care with a tinge of forgetfulness. Severus gave a curt nod, knowing not to speak out of turn, even in public; especially in public. With that done, they began to make their way through the ever thinning crowd, Tom's hand latched lightly onto the teacher's forearm. Dumbledore was the first to try and stop them.

"Evening, Severus, James. I hope you enjoyed the match." It was clear that Dumbledore was happy to see Tom leaning so trustingly on Severus, believing that as long as Harry was in his grasp, so was the Potion's Master. He failed to realize that Tom had spotted Severus's wavering loyalty and made sure that the man knew his place; made sure that he valued Draco over Lily. Besides, Tom was positive that Harry would be joining the Dark side soon enough. Then there would be absolutely nothing tying the man down.

"Oh, it was _marvelous_! And did you see the Potter boy? His use of magic was simply brilliant, don't you agree?" Tom engaged Albus in friendly conversation, voice quivering. His seemingly frail body trembled as Tom leaned partially on his cane and partially on Severus.

"Yes, yes. He's one of our best students, you know. We have high hopes for him here." Dumbledore's words weren't nearly as wobbly as Tom's but that was understandable. Dumbledore was odd.

"I suppose you do. In fact, I heard that you're resting the fate of the war on his shoulders. That's quite a lot to expect from a teenage boy, don't you think?" The banter they were skillfully tossing back and forth was nowhere near as friendly as it sounded.

"Possibly, but he's well prepared. I have much faith in him. What about you, Severus? You two get along well enough." The secret smile that the old fool had curve on his lips at putting Severus in such a position had Tom's nails digging lightly into the potion teacher's Dark Mark, making sure that the man knew to choose his words wisely. A sneer curled on the younger man's lips before Severus finally answered.

"You know my position on the boy, Albus." Tom felt light amusement at the retort, knowing that Albus had absolutely no clue about his position. The Headmaster of Hogwarts gave a small chuckle, eyes twinkling, before nodding.

"Of course, of course. Speaking of Harry, would you happen to know where he ran off to? I was thinking he might like to join me for a lemon drop in my office, as a sort of prize for his winning of the tournament." Just as the deceiving merriment twinkled in Albus's eyes, malicious cruelty glinted in Tom's.

"Yes, actually. We just saw him." Tom made sure that his voice shook extra while purposefully adding a husky tint to his words. "He looked rather ruffled." Instantaneously, the joviality in Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes flickered.

"Ah. I see. Well, I really must be going. If you'll excuse me…" Swiftly, Dumbledore gave a smile and walked off. Tom loosened his grip before beginning to walk towards his destination once more. He had just bought both Harry and himself some time; time which Harry would pay him back for later. But at the moment, Draco needed to be separated from Lucius, and Severus was going to be the one to do it.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry sat up, his muscles aching from sleeping on the cold, hard floor for so long. How long had it been since he had allowed himself to cry? In his groggy state, he couldn't be sure. With a groan, he stood, bones creaking in protest. A quick spell told him the time: 1:07 in the morning. When considering the fact that his only way back up was through the Slytherin common rooms, that wasn't a good thing. He knew from experience that the Slytherins were light sleepers. Harry closed his eyes for one last moment of peace before opening them again and beginning the trek up to the Slytherin common room. He had to be careful about this. After checking to see that the coast was clear and reminding himself that breathing was alright, Harry slowly opened the secret passageway. He made it three steps before a smooth voice interrupted him.

"Potter." Green eyes moved over to the man in the green and silver chair which had been in his blind spot.

"Malfoy." There was no venom in Harry's tone. It was just as placid as the blonde's had been. The pureblood didn't respond. Gradually, Harry nodded to the only other man in the room. Said man nodded back. For just a moment, they had a truce, though Harry had no idea why, he wasn't about to fight it. Without another word, he walked towards the exit. As quietly as a spider, Harry strode towards the exit. Just as the portrait swung shut behind him, a beautifully familiar magic assaulted his senses. It assaulted his senses just as he ran into an incredibly hard chest. With a wary feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry lifted his head. Crimson met emerald.

"Fuck." This just wasn't his day.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom could have licked his lips at the delicious sight before him: Harry Potter pressed close to his body with dulled yet defiant green eyes. Fuck, indeed.

"Hello, Harry. Is that how you greet all of your enemies?" Tom inquired easily and Harry stepped back, green eyes glinting craftily and magic spiking the slightest bit. Tom had the urge to take him right then and there.

"No, I'm usually much more amiable. Would you rather we exchanged curses first?" Harry most likely meant to sound irritated, but Tom could only think of the small act of defiance as cute.

"Perhaps later. For now, all I want is to talk." Green eyes widened adorably before narrowing.

"Why?" Suspicious, just as he should be. The chase wouldn't be nearly as fun if Harry was as stupid as his peers.

"I want you to see that you have more in common with the Dark side than the Light. I want you to see that we don't have to fight." Tom kept his voice low and enticing as he spoke and held back a smirk as contemplation became clear in the marvelous matching emeralds.

"Liar. You want something else. You want to shove it in Dumbledore's face that his secret weapon isn't his anymore. You want… I'm not sure what else you want, but it's more than a simple talk." The soft words were spoken without fear or hatred, completely unbiased and calm. Swiftly, as Tom felt his lust grow, he shielded his eyes. No one could read him that well, and if he or she could then he or she didn't dare say so.

"You're correct, but this isn't the place to discuss such things. Wouldn't you agree?" Tom allowed his magic to slip out, knowing that Harry could feel it and that the proper response would be given. Just as he expected, Harry stopped holding his magic back a little, letting it wash over Tom. Discreetly, Tom took a deep breath, enjoying the taste of Harry's magic like he would oxygen after a long underwater swim.

"I might. It depends on where you would consider a good place to talk to be." Sly, cunning words chosen as carefully as one would a wand fell easily from the younger male's lips and Tom found himself giving a small, satisfied smile without his consent. Harry was everything that he had hoped for and more. Using motions deprived of hesitation, Tom stuck out his hand palm up. Harry had a choice to make. Apprehensively, Harry placed his hand in the Dark Lord's. Just before Tom's magic could wrap itself fully around Harry, Dumbledore rounded the corner. Tom gave the old fool a triumphant grin before disappearing. They landed gracefully in his throne room a mere moment later. Instantaneously, Harry jerked his soft hand back and took a step away. Tom could still feel his flesh tingling from where they had been touching.

"What do you want with me?" Harry clearly didn't feel like going through formalities at the moment. Tom just looked down at Harry, halfway wanting to sit in his throne and assert his position and halfway wanting to stay as close to Harry as possible. In the end, he went for his throne. They would have plenty of time to get close later.

"The Dark side doesn't want to kill all muggles, just separate them from wizards. And Light magic doesn't need to be extinct, but Dark magic should be more recognized. Those are the two points that you're wanting to touch on the most, correct?" Intense emeralds stared at Tom for a full minute before the young man finally responded.

"Is there another chair? We've got quite a bit to talk over." Harry slowly gave in. Tom smirked while waving a hand leisurely. House Elves immediately appeared, chair in hand, before sitting it down and leaving with a '_pop_.' Crimson orbs Trailed down Harry's lithe body as he sat. First, Harry would come over to the Dark side. Next, Harry would become Tom's. Finally, Harry would learn his place and all would be well. But for now, they would talk.

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron opened his eyes wearily, confused on his whereabouts for a moment. The white room with white ceilings and white sheets brought him up to speed easily. Harry had… completely destroyed him in the duel. He hadn't stood a chance. After all of his bragging, all of Harry downplaying his abilities, he lost. By all means, that shouldn't have happened. Ron had been planning on taking on Voldemort and winning right after beating Harry. If he couldn't defeat the stupid Boy-Who-Lived then how was he supposed to beat the Dark Lord? Light blue eyes clenched shut. It wasn't fair. He had been so sure about winning.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, my boy." Said blue eyes snapped open at Dumbledore's soft, comforting voice.

"What do you…?" Ron trailed off at the kind look that could be easily seen through the Headmaster's half-moon spectacles.

"I don't mean to push this on you so soon after your injuries have healed, but Harry needs your help." Suddenly, anger flared through Ron's veins. Why did everything always have to be about _Harry_? "Now, now, don't get angry. Nothing that's been happening is his fault. I'm afraid Voldemort is getting to him." At that, the color drained from Ron's face. That explained why Harry was so powerful, why he did so well, and why everything was going so wrongly.

"So… Harry doesn't mean to act the way he's been acting? He's still my best friend, somewhere inside?" Hope rose in his throat like lava from a volcano. Dumbledore smiled charmingly.

"Of course he is. He just needs some help getting back to where he belongs: with the Light side. Ronald, I understand if it's too much to ask, but can I count on you to help save Harry and defeat Voldemort?" With a mouth as dry as a desert, Ron answered.

"Yeah! I mean, I can totally help! Just, just tell me what to do!" The smile that spread across Dumbledore's face at Ron's words told the red head that those were the exact words he was looking for.

**(***Albus Dumbledore***)**

Albus smiled as he got Ron's cooperation. He could defeat Tom on his own, but he needed Harry's magic to do so. And he would have it, whether Harry liked it or not. All of his plans, all the years of hard work, they wouldn't crash down around his ears because some silly child was tired of playing the hero. No, Harry was going to be good and keep his pure magic. He was going to keep Albus alive.

"Now get back to sleep, my boy. You need your rest." The headmaster said with easy concern. Blue eyes brightened at the nickname before the red head nodded.

"Okay and… um, thanks." Ron said shyly, causing Albus's smile to widen. He loved children. It wasn't his fault that Harry was a child. What had to be done, had to be done. It was for the Greater Good. Besides, was it better to lose one young man or every muggle on the planet? It was an easy choice.

"You're welcome, my boy. Good night." With that said, Ron was back to sleep before his head hit the pillow.


	10. Chapter Ten

_**Author's Note:**__ Sorry for the wait. Reality is interfering with fiction… I know, I know. Damn reality. Also, I would like to mention the fact that you get these chapters as soon as I finish them. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Maybe next year, but probably not. (If you've read __Before I Fall__, that's hilarious.) _

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Narcissa Malfoy***)**

Remus had done it, done what she had tried so hard to do yet had never been able to succeed at. He had tromped Lucius. No, her husband wasn't defeated, but it showed her son that he wasn't invincible. It showed her son that there was hope for them, and that was all she really wanted: to see that spark light up in Draco's eyes once more.

"Pardon me, but I'm a bit confused. Are they trying to keep their relationship a secret or not?" Remus gently motioned to Hermione and Blaise, who were walking in front of them too deep in conversation to notice the way they were leaning into each other, with an apologetic look on his face. Narcissa smiled softly, but didn't have an answer. Strangely enough, Draco responded.

"There's no secret to keep. Blaise is still courting her. She obviously likes him but refuses to choose until Potter chooses a side." The Savior's last name was said with light resentment, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a simple talk. Narcissa was proud. Remus chuckled.

"Of course. Hermione has always looked out for Harry like that." Another chuckle. "If he finds out, he'll kill her." At that, the female Malfoy gave a questioning glance. Gently, of course, the werewolf explained, "You see, Harry is always saving Hermione in some way or another, and Hermione wants to pay him back by doing the same, but all she can really offer him is her loyalty. I suppose, in a way, it's like the relationship some of the Deatheaters have with your Dark Lord. What do you give a man who has everything? But Harry doesn't think… Well, that's not really my place to say." A look of confusion crossed lightly over Draco's face, but Narcissa barely noticed it. There was an almost overwhelming look of pity and sorrow in light blue orbs, all for one Harry Potter. What had happened to the boy to cause such a look? In the back of her mind, she hoped that she would never have to find out.

"Why is he so important?" Draco's question shocked Narcissa slightly, though she didn't let it show. It was rare that her son allowed his curiosity to show around strangers.

"He's… He's like a son to me, I suppose. I care about him the way your mother cares about you." At those words, Narcissa's heart sank. She could remember thinking that betraying Potter wouldn't matter because he wouldn't have parents to miss him, but that wasn't true. He had Remus. He had Sirius. He even had his muggle parents. Blue eyes darted down to Draco before shooting back up to Remus. But she had a son, too. It was either Remus or her; Harry or Draco. What scared Narcissa was that she wasn't completely sure who to choose.

**(***Oliver Wood***)**

Oliver looked over at Cedric as the man recounted what took place during the Tri-Wizard tournament. If only he had been there. The younger male spoke of how _You-Know-Who_ had almost killed him and that Harry had been his savior. Personally, Oliver was kind of jealous of Harry. He was sure that Cedric would never talk about him with such admiration. It hurt, really.

"And the next thing I knew we were back on the pitch! It was crazy; definitely the most memorable night of my life." The painful jealousy tinged in his heart, but Oliver ignored it. Harry was a good person, and there was nothing between the two. If there was, he was sure that Cedric would be with the younger man right now. But he wasn't. No, Cedric was with him, and he wasn't about to take that for granted.

"So… What made you come back to Hogwarts?" Cedric looked up at the question, seemingly surprised.

"I just missed the place, I guess. You know, everything was better here, and I just really wanted to give back, which is why I'm becoming a teacher. How about you?" Dark brown eyes complemented perfectly by messy golden brown hair turned to Oliver. He could tell the man that he needed the job after throwing his shoulder. He could say that he was bored and wanted to see how his old teachers were doing. He could say a lot of things, but with those trusting brow eyes staring into his own, the Scotsman could only say the truth.

"I heard you were becoming the assistant Ancient Runes teacher and headed over." Brown eyes widened and Oliver wished that his accent wouldn't thicken so much when he was nervous. "I mean, I'm not a stalker or anything, I was just- I just thought- We were friends back when-" On the last sentence, Oliver didn't have to cut himself off. Cedric did it for him by pressing their lips together. There was no rush in the silent gesture, only soft, caring movements that made Oliver's mind go blank. And then it was over. Oliver opened his eyes to see amused brown staring back.

"Sorry. You're just so cute when you ramble." A smile tugged at the edges of Cedric's lips and Oliver didn't have to see himself to know that he was blushing. "And I wasn't sure if I'd get the chance again. The war's about to kick off at full force and if what Harry said at the tournament is to be believed, we have to make a choice in whom to side with." Without breaking the intimate contact that their eyes held, Oliver answered.

"Harry." Cedric smiled at the response.

"You read my mind." With a feeling of peace settling in his chest, Oliver reinitiated contact. Cedric didn't stop him.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

"And what do you plan on doing about the Mudbloods?" Harry didn't find the term offensive, simply a term, and he knew Hermione thought the same thing. Tom leaned back a bit in full Voldemort mode.

"When they're born, they'll be taken and given to a deserving wizarding family." And then the elder male stopped, obviously waiting for an objection. Harry had none to make. Green stared into crimson without fear or apprehension.

"I see no problem with that." If the Dark Lord was surprised, he didn't show it. Though his magic fluctuated slightly, Harry was unable to tell what emotion caused it.

"Don't you?" Strangely, the Boy-Who-Lived was having a hard time deciphering the point in the question. A taunt, perhaps? Or was there something hidden behind the question that Harry had missed? After reviewing the two simple words in his head three times, he finally responded.

"No. I don't. There are enough muggle orphanages out there to replace whatever wizards we take without raising suspicion. You know as well as I do that muggles can't handle the knowledge of magic." He knew that Tom had been beaten ad neglected by muggles, but Tom didn't know that Harry had gone through the same. If everything worked out, he never would.

"Do I? Are you sure I don't know _better_?" That one was definitely a taunt. Without missing a beat, Harry answered.

"Positive. Are you sure that _I_ don't know better?" An undeniable spark in Voldemort's (Or was he Tom now?) magic told Harry that he was on dangerous grounds.

"Absolutely. What would give you the idea that your knowledge even begins to measure up to mine?" He was issuing a challenge, daring Harry to take another step forward. Harry knew he should back down. He knew facing the Dark Lord was a bad idea, but there was something appealing about going head to head with the man; something that made Harry say his next retort.

"I was trained by the best." It was a lie, seeing as he was trained by Dumbledore, but he knew it would ignite irritation in Voldemort. True enough, a flash of anger momentarily burned through the purely dark magic.

"Really now? I don't remember training you." Confidence incredibly close to arrogance seeped into Voldemort's tone, creating an almost playful banner.

"That's because you didn't." Suddenly, Voldemort was standing in front of him, long fingers wrapped firmly around the arms of Harry's chair.

"Perhaps I should." His hot breath burned against Harry's lips. _Perhaps you should._ Harry barely had time to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. Instead, he pushed a small amount of his magic out into the open, telling Voldemort that he was overstepping his boundaries. The Dark Lord pushed back. An intoxicating amount of magic curled around Harry, wrapping itself around his very being. Harry responded in turn, telling the man his thoughts at the same time.

"I don't belong to you." The words were breathless, but Harry could feel his lips brushing against Tom's when saying it, so miscommunication wasn't a problem. A wand pressed against his right forearm, and in the same tone of voice as before, Voldemort gave a response.

"Don't you?" Their lips connected heatedly. Tom's tongue slipped expertly into Harry's mouth without permission, but the younger wizard couldn't for the life of him remember why that was a bad thing. On instinct, he fisted the hand that wasn't being held down by a wand into the cloth covering Tom's well-chiseled chest. Said man yanked Harry up by the collar of his shirt before threading a hand through messy black locks. Moments later, he was trapped between a cold, stone wall and Tom's hot, muscled body. The variances in temperature had the Boy-Who-Lived moaning. Or perhaps it was the knee pressed firmly against his groin? Harry didn't know; didn't care. The sensations running through him were too great. Suddenly, pain shot up his arm.

Abruptly, Harry realized what was happening. As swiftly as he possibly could, Harry concentrated his magic onto his right forearm: the spot where Tom – Voldemort – was trying to give him the Dark Mark. Without warning, Harry jerked away to suck in much needed oxygen. Voldemort's hand shifted to the back of Harry's neck, and suddenly they were kissing again. As soon as he was sure the dark magic had been counteracted, Harry forced his magic on Voldemort, knocking the man back a few inches. The mind-blowing kiss was over, but the mind-blowing man was still standing in front of him, and he didn't look the least bit deterred.

"I don't belong to you." Harry repeated his earlier statement quietly, magic flaring with uncontrolled emotion. Voldemort stood even taller, if possible, when he did that, almost as if he were drinking in Harry's magic.

"Yes, Harry. You do." At that simple declaration, Harry snarled. He didn't belong to anyone. In an act of defiance, the younger male drew in every last bit of his magic and refused to let it leave him. It was his. He could do whatever he wanted with it.

"No, _Voldemort_, I don't." Using the magic he had locked away, Harry left. The prospect of Voldemort's world was much better than that of Dumbledore's, but there was one major flaw: Voldemort would be there.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom gasped for air as all of Harry's magic suddenly vanished. His mind couldn't process it not being there anymore as quickly as his body could. Mere moments ago he had been drowning in the beautiful magic, and now he wasn't. Why? It just didn't make sense. And it was so hard to think; to move. It was so much worse than the last time. Suddenly, he realized what was happening. He was going through withdrawal. More than that, Tom realized that he shouldn't be. What right did Harry have to take away his magic? The wondrous magic that rightfully belonged to Tom, as all magic did, had been stolen away because Harry somehow believed that he wasn't Tom's. It was a ridiculous notion, but it was there. Without thinking about it, Tom composed himself and stood. Harry's magic was his. All he had to do was make Harry see that. And he would.

Slowly, the Dark Lord slid into his throne; calm, collected, in control. Thinking back on the discussion they had been having, Tom allowed a tranquil smile to slip onto his lips. Harry was even more brilliant than Tom had expected. Every phrase had been thought out, planned down to the letter. It was a thrilling game of chess where they had to dance around each other, trying more to find a flaw in the construction than to tear down the wall. A flaw was victory. A flaw meant the fortress was conquerable. No flaws had been found. Strangely, Tom was fine with that, happy even. If he had found a flaw then the game was over and the dance was done. With that in mind, the Dark Lord began to plot his next move. First, he would need to speak to Blaise Zabini. Blaise Zabini and Narcissa Malfoy. The smile turned into a smirk, and as he called the two people to his throne room via the Dark Mark, Tom made sure not to think about how hard it was to breathe.

**(***Blaise Zabini***)**

Blaise stared at the floor of the Dark Lord's throne room. He had parted with Hermione as soon as the pain had shot up his arm, walking as quickly as he could without becoming conspicuous until he reached an apparition spot. And here he was, kneeling next to Narcissa Malfoy. It was insane. Never before had he considered himself one of the Dark Lord's prospects. But Draco wasn't on the floor next to his mother, Blaise was. A light flare of triumph shot through him before Blaise got himself under control.

"You're wondering why you're here." It wasn't a question, but a lightly taunting statement that sent shivers up the young wizard's spine. Neither of them answered. They weren't supposed to. "You're wondering if this has anything to do with Remus Lupin. Or Hermione Granger." Blaise barely tensed at the name. All in all, it was probably stranger that Lupin had been brought up. "You're correct." Again, Blaise had to calm his racing mind. Who was right? Mrs. Malfoy or he? The Dark Lord's presence shifted behind him. "Stand." Blaise didn't question the command or if it was pointed at him. He could feel the stare burning into his back and, without hesitation, stood. Brown eyes; however, stayed locked on the floor.

"Tell me what you think I want you to do with the Mudblood." Blaise racked his mind at the command, trying desperately not to think about just how close the Dark Lord was. What would he do if he was a Dark Lord?

"You… want me to seduce her to make sure that Potter comes with us before issuing the killing curse?" The Italian mentally cursed himself as his voice raised slightly at the end, making his statement into a question. There was a pause before a single syllable slipped through the man's lips.

"No." His throat went dry. "Narcissa, what do you think I want with the wolf?" Amusement was heavy in the elder male's voice. Blaise could practically see the blonde woman's mind racing. He almost felt sorry for her, but then he remembered that he was in the exact same situation and all sympathy vanished.

"I-" For a moment, Blaise thought she was going to say, "I don't know," and felt like warning her. When the Dark Lord asked a question, he wanted an answer. It wasn't until she continued that Blaise realized she probably knew that much better than he did. "I believe you want me to earn his trust, therefore Potter's trust. After Potter is safely on our side, I am to kill him to gain the allegiance of Fenrir Greyback and his pack." Blaise admired the way her voice didn't waver as she tossed her thoughts into the darkness. Everything was silent for a moment, and the young Slytherin thought she might actually have gotten it right.

"Incorrect, Narcissa. I want him on our side as well. And what's the one thing that he wants?" Once more, Blaise was unsure whether the question was rhetorical or not. He was glad it wasn't directed at him. "A family. You and your son are going to be that." Only one question entered Blaise's mind at that statement, but he didn't dare ask, 'What about Lucius?' Even though the inquiry reached no farther than the confines of his mind, the Dark Lord responded. "Don't worry about Lucius. He isn't your responsibility anymore. You've passed your test." The dismissal was clear. Blaise watched Narcissa stand up listened to her shoes clack against the floor as she left the room. The door shut without a sound.

"You have a different job altogether. In fact, I want you to invite the Mudblood to our next meeting. I want you to tell her that if she doesn't get Potter to come, you might not make it out alive." Blaise was ashamed to feel a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He wanted to question whether it was a bluff or not, to know if he was in any serious danger, but didn't. One didn't question the Dark Lord. "I want you to make sure she knows that your life is in her hands. I want you to know that your life is in her hands." And that's when it all clicked. Voldemort had fucked things up with Potter. That was what this was all about. Without meaning to, Blaise allowed his magic to flare. While he couldn't sense the magic of others like some of the stronger Death Eaters (namely Rodolphus) he had been taught at an early age how to control his own to stop himself from being detected. An instant later, he was staring into crimson orbs.

"Watch your thoughts, _Blaise Zabini_, or I may just take them away." Clearly, he wasn't supposed to so much as think about—

"Yes, my Lord." He shouldn't have answered! Damn it, he was panicking. Without a second though, Blaise cleared his mind and slumped his shoulders in submission. This wasn't his place to panic; to think; to live. This was his place to serve. A slow smirk curled onto the eternally young Dark Lord's lips.

"You'll make a perfect successor for him in time, if you live long enough to do so." Blaise was dizzy with relief as those words were spoken. He was going to live! It didn't matter what the elder male meant by that statement. Taking the dismissal for what it was, Blaise murmured his thanks, went to his knees once more, and began to stride towards the doors: freedom.

"And, Blaise?" The Italian didn't have time to turn around before he felt the unbearable pain of one of his Lord's _Crucio_'s bearing down on him. "We have to make sure she _knows_."

He barely heard the silky voice through the sound of his own screams.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione watched as Blaise entered the Great Hall the next day with concern. At a glance, the man looked fine. When staring, the man looked fine. When observing, the man was clearly worried about something. If Hermione wasn't around Harry so much, she probably wouldn't be able to tell. But she could. The Italian didn't look over.

"Harry, is it just me, or does something seem off about our favorite Slytherins?" Brown eyes trailed over to Harry who was spreading jam onto his toast. He simply cocked a brow without looking up from his task.

"I wasn't aware we liked Slytherins, let alone had favorites." Hermione pursed her lips at the only faintly humorous words. "But, if we must, I call Jackary Salem. He's quite the beater, you know." At that, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No, Harry! I mean… Malfoy seems happier, and Blaise seems… contemplative. Don't you think?" The young witch watched as emerald orbs rose to look at the green-and-silver clad table.

"They do, but I don't believe that's any of our business." Noble, as always. Sometimes, she hated that about Harry.

"But it is!" But it wasn't. "_Harry_!" Hermione knew she sounded whiny, but it was necessary.

"_Hermione_." Harry spoke in the same tone, yet it somehow managed to sound eloquent coming from him. Without giving her a chance to respond, the Boy-Who-Lived picked up his bag and left. Hermione shifted her eyes between Harry's retreating form and Blaise's slightly stiff posture. In the end, she stayed at the table. In the end, she regretted her decision.

"Hermione, have you seen Harry?" The Head Girl turned to Adrian Linkhouse, the new Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, if she remembered correctly.

"Um, yeah. He just left. Why?" Adrian looked at her with a bit of a worried expression, making Hermione worry. Sometimes, she hated her extreme empathy. "Adrian, what's wrong?"

"Er, um, I might have just gotten news that a couple of Ravenclaws are planning an ambush?" This time, it was Hermione's eyes which widened.

"_What_? When? Who told you that?" The questions came out of her mouth faster than she could think about them. At the last question, red rushed up the other Seventh year's cheeks.

"Um… Ambush, now, and Jack." She didn't stop to process all of his answers, instead forgetting all about her previous problems and pushing past Adrian to rush out of the Great Hall. At least, that's what she tried to do.

"'Mione! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Ron's voice rang in Hermione's ears over the chatter of the other students.

"Ron, not right now." Without further explanation, she pushed her way out the door, stopping only when a hand landed on her arm, fingers curling around her bicep. "_Ronald_!" Hermione would have continued had Adrian not interrupted and said it instead.

"Stop it, Ron, Harry's in trouble!" Hermione turned, wondering when the boy had begun caring about her scar-headed friend.

"You stay out of this!" Suddenly, the red-head's wand was on Adrian. Grey eyes widened immeasurably. Blue eyes followed as Jackary, the Beater which Harry had been speaking about, rounded the corner and aimed his wand at Ron. Extremely dark blue, almost violet orbs narrowed.

"Drop it." The deep tenor of the new male's voice resonated through the empty hallway. Hermione watched the two men exchange a glance, one of bewilderment and one of warning, before pulling out her own wand and pointing it at the Slytherin.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I don't need your help." Truly, she didn't. He would only make things more complicated; waste her time. Like he was doing now. The black-haired male's upper lip curled slightly in a trademark Slytherin sneer before he spoke once more, neither moving his wand nor his eyes from Ron.

"You really think I would waste my time trying to protect filth like you, _Mudblood_?" Hermione bristled at the insult, but more in confusion than anger. Then why was he- That's when she noticed the way Adrian was standing slightly behind Jackary, hand placed lightly on the other male's shoulder, almost as if to hold him back. It was the truth then. The green-and-silver clad man wasn't there to help her, but to stop any harm from coming to Adrian. "Who do you think I am? Zabini?" With a pang, Blaise flashed through her mind. Yet, as the thought of him vanished, she wondered what kind of family the man was raised in. He held the air of arrogant elegance about him that only purebloods could, and, somehow, reminded her faintly of Voldemort. That vanished from her contemplations as Blaise appeared as well, immediately drawing his wand on Ron. Hermione's own wand flickered between Blaise and Jackary before settling on Adrian, which got the indigo-eyed man's wand to flick over to her. In reaction to that, Blaise was aiming at his fellow Slytherin. The only wand that didn't move was Ron's.

Suddenly, Adrian drew his wand, making everyone around him (with the exception of Jackary) tense. He pointed it at the ceiling and shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!" Her wand ripped itself from her hand and flew off in a random direction, just like everyone else's. Four wands clacked against the floor. "Would you guys just _cut it out_? Harry's in trouble!" Abruptly, Hermione remembered what she had left breakfast early for.

"_Accio wand_!" She was pushing through the crowd again before the wood touched her fingers.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry ignored the magical signatures which had been following him at a 'safe' distance for the past four minutes or so. He had immediately changed directions from the dungeons to the lake. Another minute went by before a spell shot past his shoulder. Quickly, Harry took to the ground (much like he had seen James Bond do in the movies) to dodge another two. Sadly, he couldn't say he was very surprised to see Ginny step out from behind a tree to shoot off another spell.

"Stand still, Harry! You brought this upon yourself!" He dodged another, more dangerous spell, but didn't draw his wand. If he was going to get through this, he had to time it perfectly.

"Strategy Phi-Beta! Go!" A Sixth year Ravenclaw boy shouted, getting an immediate response. In the back of his mind, Harry wondered why they couldn't win a Quidditch game. Spells flew from every angle, leaving the Boy-Who-Lived trapped in a hexagon of danger. It took a small bout of wandless magic to block them all. As soon as they were in perfect formation around him, he drew his wand.

"_Stupefy_." The only one the quiet spell didn't hit was Ginny. She was the only one who had kept her distance. Yet, even with her still armed, Harry slipped his magic back inside of himself. Who knew where Voldemort was? And no matter where the male happened to be, Harry refused to lose.

"Stop it!" She stepped forward, red hair blowing lightly behind her in the wind. "Don't you see what's happening?" Her voice raised a little as she took another step forward. "Don't you care about _us_ and what your 'friends' are doing to you? They made you think you were _gay_, for heaven's sake!" Harry stopped as she curled her fingers into his robes, trying to determine whether her motives put him in enough danger to earn a spell in response. Before he could decide, her lips pressed against his. At the same time, her wand pressed to his abs.

"_Diffindo_." Pain shot through him as the magic ripped at his flesh. "_I love you_." Harry barely heard the whispered words against his skin as the world faded away.

**(***Bellatrix Lestrange***)**

Bellatrix felt the insane urge to grin pull at her lips as Lucius Malfoy entered her home. Rodolphus had left to do something for her Lord, and the blonde male had been put in charge. It was perfect. She barely noticed the cackling giggle dancing up her throat and out her lips. Completely perfect. He was all she needed to get to her Lord.

"Bellatrix." The calm greeting showed how phased he wasn't, much like in their school days. Another giggle did a flip out of her esophagus.

"Hullo, Lucius!" Her voice sounded high, as always, as if she were floating on a rather destructive version of air. The Malfoy didn't respond, simply took a seat in one of the many chairs. She faintly noticed that it wasn't the one that Rodolphus usually used, which made sense since, well, it was Rodolphus's seat. Why would someone other than said man sit in it? With malicious, lustful glee filing her mind, she sank down beside the chair (throne) which her Lord used whenever he came by and watched the blonde male look at the book sitting beside Rodolphus's chair. He only looked, not touched. Lucius must have known as well as she did that Rodolphus would know if he touched. An hour passed by in silence.

"Guess what." Bellatrix broke it. Slowly, grey eyes rose to meet grey-brown. Lucius was nowhere near as stunning as her Lord, but he was beautiful in his own right. "I have a plan." Lucius didn't look amused. "It'll get us closer to the Dark Lord." Another insane burst of laughter bubbled out after saying her Lord's title. She simply loved the way it sounded. He was paying attention to her now, but just barely. She rose to her knees and placed a hand on the seat of her Lord's throne, silently pretending he was there witnessing her brilliance.

"And what, pray tell, is your plan?" His voice was smooth, though not as smooth as her Lord's.

"We're going to mix magic." He cocked a brow at that; disbelieving. Quickly, she crawled over to him, forcing him to look at her again. "It's an ancient technique, but it makes you so much more powerful! It'll get his attention!" It would. It had to. She didn't mention that one of them would have to die to keep the power. He just looked at her for a moment before, finally, giving into his almost obvious curiosity.

"How?" His tone was bland, so unlike her Lord's. With a grin, she crashed her lips onto his. He kissed back.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco didn't know what was going on. If there was one thing that Draco hated, it was not knowing something. It was too bad that no one would tell him. Salem hit another Bludger at Rosier. It hit with painful accuracy, as always. The young Malfoy heard bones crack from his place at the top of the stands, and, were he anyone else, would have rolled his eyes. The Chaser may have been a mere Fourth year, but he should have known by now – whether from watching or from rumors – that I didn't matter what you were doing. If Jackary Salem hit a Bludger at you, you got the hell out of the way. What was ten points to ten bones and probably an organ or two? It was a lot easier to get an extra goal than it was to replace a player. But if he didn't know it then he sure as hell knew it now. That much Draco was sure of as Rosier hit the ground, unconscious.

"Nott, get him to the Hospital Wing! The rest of you, run it again!" Someone else may have told Salem not to hit as hard during practice, at least not at the rest of the team. Draco didn't. He distinctly remembered the Captain during his Fourth year telling the boy to 'cool his jets' and getting a Bludger to the head courtesy of said Fourth year. It was written off as an accident and the Captain transferred to Durmstrang. It wasn't that the man had a particularly bad temper, he just didn't like it when people tried to control him. It was one of the few reasons why the male wasn't a Deatheater.

Personally, the only people Draco would want to mess with less were Voldemort and Rodolphus, possibly because the Slytherin was like a strange mix of the two. So, with that in mind, Draco kept his mouth shut. Yet, the Malfoy heir still noticed the way that Salem flew a just a little bit faster than usual, with just a little bit more edge. Normally he practically floated through practice, hitting something only if it came toward him first (which it rarely did, as the man somehow always knew who hit it and somehow always got them back). Of course, Draco wasn't about to ask him what was wrong. He would much rather suffer through practice and have an interrogation session with Blaise. Without warning, a Bludger barely nicked Draco's ear as it crashed past him, bringing him back to the present. Salem stared with bored, dark blue, almost violet eyes.

"Pay attention." And that was it. It was like someone had pressed play on a muggle television show as the play continued, as if the pureblood hadn't almost taken off his head. The Salems weren't nearly as well known as the Malfoys, but the few who did know of them knew to stay out of the way. Their family tree was darker than the Blacks'. It often made Draco wonder why the Dark Lord hadn't gone after him, but he supposed the man had his reasons. With a mental shake of the head, Draco snapped himself out of his thoughts again. Salem was still watching.

"Run the Double Axle! We have a match against the Gryffindors in two days!" The man's stare didn't waver. He was back to floating around, barely paying attention, but this time there was an extra step in his routine: Draco watching. Draco, not for the first time, thanked Merlin his father had forced him to create a mask. Otherwise, he probably would have been fidgeting by now. No one hit anything anywhere near Salem for the rest of practice. When the clock finally hit seven, the players hit the ground and began making their way to the Slytherin dressing rooms. Draco went as fast as he could without rushing through the process before striding out of the building. He half expected to see Salem waiting for him. He couldn't say he disappointed to see otherwise.

Grey eyes narrowed. Blaise wasn't at dinner. He wasn't in the Common Rooms. He wasn't in Astronomy. By midnight, Draco was ready to hit something. Preferably Blaise. As if on cue, the Italian waltzed into the room. Without waiting for the young Malfoy to pose the question, Blaise answered.

"Potter's missing." Draco cocked a brow. Potter was always missing.

"So?" That couldn't possibly be why the other Sllytherins were acting so strange, could it?

"He was ambushed." Draco still didn't see a problem. He was sure the male could handle himself.

"Did he run off to sulk again? He does that every time he _wins_, if I'm not mistaken." It was annoying, to tell the truth. Draco wished the boy would just get over his masochistic hero complex and shag someone. It would make the world that much simpler.

"He didn't win. Six Ravenclaws were found _Supefied_ along with a small puddle of Potter's blood. There are no trails leading away from the scene." It couldn't be. "Potter's been kidnapped." And Draco's world came to a stop. That couldn't happen. Harry Potter couldn't be defeated as simply as that.

"But-" But? What was there to say? Just as they were beginning to see eye to eye, the Boy-who-Lived decided to go missing. It was surreal.

"I've looked everywhere." Just as Draco's world had started turning again, it stopped. That was even stranger than Potter losing a fight. Grey eyes narrowed.

"Why?" It made no sense. Their eyes connected for a few moments before Blaise finally allowed a response to slip past his lips.

"The Dark Lord wants Potter at the next meeting. If I can't get him there, I'm gone." The Italian didn't have to clarify. Without pausing, Draco stood and slipped this robe off of the back of the chair. Blaise watched him with barely noticeable curiosity.

"Why?" Just as Draco finished dressing himself, he paused, mere feet away from the exit. If he was a Gryffindor, he would have said something along the lines of, "That's what friends are for," but he wasn't a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin. So, he settled for sending a dark glare warning the other man about what would happen if this got out at the Italian man before stepping out of the Common Rooms. He really didn't need this right now.

Bottom of Form


	11. Chapter Eleven

_**Author's Note:**____ Sorry it took so long. My friend Hannah was doing French on my computer and "accidently" translated everything on my computer into French. I don't know French. Needless to say, she took forever to fix it._

_**Disclaimer:**____ I'm really cool, but not that cool._

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Lucius Malfoy***)**

Lucius entered his home after three showers and four cleaning spells. Bellatrix was in no way an enjoyable shag. She had plenty of experience, which showed, but it wasn't things that he in particular enjoyed experiencing in the bedroom. But he could feel the new power flowing through him, mixing with his own magic. Because of that, he could handle the filthy feeling which came with laying with the woman. Lucius didn't turn around when he heard Narcissa's heels clacking against the pristine marble floor.

"Why are you still awake?" He refused to look her in the eyes as he knew that she would immediately know of his deceit. The woman had always been able to read him like a book. It had been freedom at first, but nowadays it was torture of the first degree.

"Why are you just getting back?" The retort made him turn with a glare. _ He_ was head of the Malfoy Household. She had no right to question him.

"That is none of your concern. Get back to bed." The words were sharp, and her beautiful eyes widened slightly. Considering his words were always sharp, there was only one reason why she would show such shock. She knew.

"You…" Lucius lifted his head slightly as she trailed off, poising himself for what was to come. "You're making this so much easier." Whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn't that. Still, no surprise leaked through his mask.

"Quit your babbling and get back to bed." What else was there to say?

"I'm not going back to bed, Lucius. Not with you." Now _that_ made his brows furrow the smallest bit. What? "We're through." His wand was pointed at her a second later.

"You will _not _disgrace the Malfoy name with divorce." Her wand was pointed back without a moment's hesitation.

"Watch me." And then, with a _pop_, she was gone. Faintly, he realized that she must have taken the wards down. His world went numb as he felt Black magic flowing through him, mingling with his own. Was it because of the magic? Because he cheated? This wasn't happening! He wouldn't stand for this! Their lord wouldn't stand for it either. No, the man wanted politically powerful followers. That meant Malfoys. All of them.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus sat in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with _Wars Across the Years _in his hands, easily ignoring Sirius's rambling words.

"Can you believe this is happening? I can finally teach 'Cissa how to play pranks and she can try your cooking and we can do other stuff…" At that point, Remus smelled Narcissa's approaching scent and quietly closed his book.

"Stay." As much as he knew Sirius was excited, he didn't want to overwhelm the woman. Though he gave a disappointed sigh, the Animagus stayed put. Remus opened the door before she could knock.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing this house appear." She gave a smile with her words. Remus returned it.

"I fully agree with that, but on a chilly night like this, it's better to be inside then out." Remus stepped aside and Narcissa, catching the implication, went inside. It was as magnificent as she remembered; elegant without being impersonal. A comfortable silence fell over them, and Remus couldn't help but feel a certain amount of content. He had always had a soft spot for the Malfoy woman. Well, he supposed she was a Black again, now. "As a fair warning, Sirius is excited to see you." No more needed to be said. They stepped into the living area and all Remus had time to do was step forward and hold out an arm before Sirius rammed against it. It was only his werewolf strength that allowed him to stop Sirius from toppling him over. Any normal man his size would be crushed under Sirius's ex-Auror strength.

"But _Remmy_!" The whine was enough for Remus.

"No, Sirius. You can scare her away tomorrow. Right now we need to let her get situated and have a good night's rest. Alright?" Sirius slumped against Remus's arm in a bored, defeated fashion.

"I guess so…" With that, the larger man got off of Remus and shouted for Kreacher. The Elf appeared a moment later with a loud _crack_.

"What do you- Madam Black!" Immediately, the House Elf slumped at her feet "Oh, Kreacher is so glad to see you here, Madam! So glad! I sorry for serving the blood-traitor, but I have no choice! Please, forgive Kreacher! _Please_!" By then, he was tugging on her evening gown, pleading.

"Kreacher! Get off of her!" But before Kreacher could reluctantly obey the order, Narcissa knelt down and helped the Elf up.

"There is no reason to apologize, Kreacher. After all, we haven't seen each other in so long." She didn't say anything about Sirius being a blood-traitor. "Would you mind showing me to my room?" His eyes seemed to light up at that.

"Oh yes, Madam Black! Kreacher has been preparing it for you, with the help of Master Lupin. He is not a Black, but he is worthy; powerful! He teaches Kreacher to speak better for Masters!" At that, Narcissa looked up at Remus, a small amount of pride shining in her eyes.

"Did he now?" It was obviously a rhetorical question, but Kreacher answered it anyways.

"He did! Madam would be so proud!" Though she was clearly unsure of whether or not he was referring to her or his original master, she responded.

"I'm sure she would."

"I don't care if he knows how to talk. I don't like him! He kept sabotaging me when I tried to help with your room!" The indignant cry didn't go unnoticed by Remus.

"Kreacher is a fine Elf, Sirius. I'm sure you two could get along if you'd just try." But they wouldn't try. Remus was more sure of that then he was of anything else. Sirius's lip lifted in a sneer before the man turned away.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'm going for a walk." Then he stormed out. Remus shook his head but allowed the man to go. He knew how much being called a blood-traitor hurt the man. He also knew how much Sirius treasured the fact that Remus 'didn't' know. With a slightly strained smile, Remus turned back to Kreacher and the now-standing Narcissa.

"Well, Kreacher, lead the way." He pretended not to notice the way that the soon-to-be ex-Malfoy watched his every move.

**(***Sirius Black***)**

He didn't know why he had gotten so angry. Kreacher called him a blood-traitor all the time. He supposed he just wanted to make a good impression on Narcissa. It had been years since she had looked at him without the Malfoy fog, and he had been so excited to have his cousin back. Sirius let small droplets of rain begin to wash over him as his feet led the way to… to wherever. He didn't care at the moment.

"I expected to run into you soon, but this wasn't quite what I imagined." Sirius looked up and found himself mere inches from none other than Rodolphus Lestrange, or, more accurately, his chest. The Animagus tilted his head back a bit further to see the man's face. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of you coming to my home?" His home? Sirius glanced over at the houses around him, only figuring out which one belonged to Rodolphus by the Dark magic which flowed from it. So he was.

"I just… I'm not sure." It was an honest answer. He really didn't know why he had led himself here.

"Would you like to come in while you figure it out?" That was something he really had to think about. Did he want to go inside and risk his imagination running away with him, giving him non-existent hints at something deeper than friendship? As the rain finally began to chill his bones, Sirius nodded. Rodolphus's magic was comforting, ad he didn't want to leave it just yet.

"Thank you." He didn't know why he felt the need to be so polite around Rodolphus, but he did. He didn't want the man to think of him as- "Do you think I'm a blood-traitor?" It was important. He had to know. Rodolphus stopped and turned to him. The rain began to pour. He had to know. Time seemed to slow as the rain slowed its descent to the ground. Or perhaps it was going so fast that it seemed slow?

"I do." His world didn't crumble or screech to a stop, but it cracked. It slowed.

"Am I?" He had been saving himself; preserving the Black family line. That hadn't been his reasons at the time, but that was what they had transformed into. He had been scared about losing himself, and ran from his family. His brother was the only one he had actually wanted to save, but that hadn't worked. The boy had gone missing only a year after graduating Hogwarts. Sirius had been devastated. Did that make him a blood-traitor? Did he really betray his family; his brother? If he had said what he had been thinking and stayed, could he have save Regulus?

"You are." The words hit Sirius like the rain. Flowing. Pounding. Striking. Calming. Rodolphus didn't hate him for it. Remus didn't hate him for it. But he hated himself for it.

"Can you fix me?" Was he broken?

"I can." He could. Sirius stared into deep brown orbs. _He could._

"How?" Rodolphus smiled a strange little half smile before leaning down and pressing his lips to Sirius's. Dark magic flowed through him, joining his own, both Light and Dark; mixing. But the Dark was overpowering the Light. It was a chaste kiss, but, somehow, it was the most intimate one he had ever experienced. A second later, it was over.

"I'll teach you." Sirius nodded, slightly numb but feeling more alive than ever. "First, go take a shower. We can't have you getting sick." Sirius did as he was told.

**(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)**

Rodolphus smirked at the ceiling as he heard the water running. He had kissed Sirius and gained access to the most beautiful, most _Black_ magic he had ever had. It was much better than he had imagined, but his journey wasn't over yet. He had to make Sirius his and only his. The man wouldn't just be a quick fuck. No, Rodolphus would teach him, train him, and the younger man would learn how to take over his line. He just had to teach Sirius how to control his magic. As soon as that happened, he could take Sirius as his own. As soon as that was done, he would finally have the man who had caught his eye all the way back in Hogwarts all to himself.

The water stopped. Minutes passed. A crash resounded throughout the house. Another. Another. Rodolphus stayed put. It seemed that Bellatrix had made her appearance. Another. The crashes were getting closer. Another. Bellatrix's cackling laugh took to the air. Another. And then Bellatrix came tumbling down the steps, obviously stunned into submission. Sirius came down a second later in a towel. Rodolphus couldn't tear his eyes away. His body was strong and scarred from years of being an Auror, perfect and poised with water slipping down his strong jaw, across his shoulder, and halfway down his wand arm – which was still pointed at Bellatrix – before succumbing to gravity's mighty pull and falling to the floor.

"Merlin damn it, Bellatrix! If you ever talk about Harry like that again I'll-" It was at that point which Sirius seemed to take notice of Rodolphus. The anger dimmed. "Sorry about that, Rudy." The annoying nickname resurfaced, but it didn't sound nearly as joyful as usual. Still, whatever remorse he was feeling didn't stop him from kicking Bellatrix's motionless body on his way down. "I know it's asking a lot, but do you have any clothes I can borrow? Mine are soaked." He gave a half-grin, empty. Rodolphus frowned. Would he have to speed his plans along so much?

"I do." Rodolphus easily stepped over Bellatrix, ignoring the way her magic stank of Lucius, and made his way to the master bedroom. To his pleasure, Sirius followed. In a towel. Emphasis on the towel.

"So, Rudy, you really don't care that I hexed Bellatrix?" There was a surprised yet happy tint to his voice. He was coming back.

"I do not." Sirius's magic flexed at that, not unkindly.

"I take it she's with Lucius, away from you list of loyalties?" A well-phrased question which showed his upbringing slipped out of Sirius's mouth. Rodolphus couldn't rightly say that he wasn't pleased.

"Correct." Rodolphus walked into his bedroom and went straight to the closet. He knew from the Black's many years in Askaban that black and white suited him. So, going on that, he picked out black dress pants, his smallest white muscle shirt, and, for good measure, a grey jacket. It would go well with the man's eyes, Rodolphus was sure. Soon enough, he would have those stormy grey eyes glazed over with lusty pleasure while the Black begged for more. When Rodolphus finally emerged from the walk-in closet, he found Sirius asleep in the bed, towel still covering him, but just barely.

Perhaps it wouldn't be soon enough. Could Rodolphus really wait for Sirius knowing that he had the power to take the man at any moment? He brushed off the miniscule urge to sigh. He would have to. It was either that or lock Sirius in the basement as a sex slave for the rest of his life. As if hearing his thoughts, Sirius stirred slightly, making the towel lose its protective purposes. The second option was getting more appealing by the second.

Sirius didn't even realize what danger he was in. Rodolphus could pin him down and watch as his eyes cracked open, heavy with sleep. A quick snog would have Sirius giving in easily enough and then Rodolphus could fuck Sirius into the mattress for the rest of the night. Yet, that would only lead to the only reason he hadn't done it already: the morning after. Sirius would no doubt panic about the quick change in their relationship and hide himself away. That would only lead to Rodolphus putting Plan B into action and chaining Sirius to his bed forever. As appealing as that was, and believe him when he said that the idea was _extremely _appealing, he wanted a willing Sirius in his bed.

Still, he couldn't just let Sirius lay there naked in his bed for the world to see, could he? The clothes wrinkled in Rodolphus's tight grip. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he could hold back long enough to dress the man. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could lay his hands on Sirius's naked body without laying Sirius himself. So, with almost jerky movements, he sat the clothes on the dresser and covered Sirius with an extra blanket. This would be the first time that he would be sleeping in his own home, in a guest room. Sirius _so_ owed him for this.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

Hermione had looked everywhere. She had scoured the dungeons and searched the grounds. She had crouched and crawled through every crevice the castle had to offer, and then she remembered the Marauder's Map. The only problem? It was locked in Harry's trunk. His trunk didn't take keys like all the other trunks, but spells. He had told her once that it took certain spells in a certain order to open it. Now, perhaps Hermione knew Harry well enough to break that code, and she had told him such. His response had been that all of the spells were in Parseltongue. The only person which knew Parseltongue was someone she wasn't willing to go to. Not yet, anyways. That left her in her current predicament: standing in front of the doors to the Great Hall, trying to decide whether asking Blaise and Draco to break into Harry Potter's trunk would be a very Gryffindor thing to do. So far, she was in the negative. Really, he had never let her see what was in his trunk. He would die if _they_ saw. He might die if they don't. That thought was the deciding factor which pushed Hermione into the Great Hall.

It turned out that she needn't have. They weren't there. People were milling about, eating, laughing, but the two men she was looking for weren't. With a scowl, she turned to leave. Where could they be?

"Snippets." Pansy Parkinson. Hermione opened her mouth to question what that meant, but the meaning quickly became clear. It was the password to the Slytherin common room. She stuck her nose in the air as Hermione's shock showed on her face. It wasn't as if Hermione didn't already know the password, since she was Head Girl and all, but it gave her the men's location. "I don't know what Blaise sees in you, but he does." Pansy was doing it for Blaise. For her friend. With a grateful smile, Hermione nodded.

"Thank you. That was very… _Gryffindor_ of you." A sneer appeared on Pansy's features.

"Don't expect it to happen again." And then she walked off. Hermione went in the other direction, losing any doubt in Harry's judgment on the way. The common room was easy to reach, staying there was the problem. There were other Slytherins around. Still, she had to get in. It was time to take Harry's advice.

"_We all have a little Slytherin in us, Hermione, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, too. If you look close enough, I bet you'll see a tad bit of Gryffindor in the Slytherins as well." _She had brushed it off as Harry being Harry back then, but Pansy had just proved her wrong. It was time to do the same. She took a deep breath. It was time to be a Slytherin.

"All of you clear out." She made her voice as sharp as she could, but the Slytherins weren't about to listen.

"Why the fuck should we? This is our territory, Gryffindork." It was true, but she had to be deceiving. She had to make up a plausible reason to go inside and have everyone else stay out.

"Because there are regular check-ups done during the year over the common rooms. Usually we just look to make sure that the common room and dorms aren't destroyed, but keep it up and who knows what I might find." A girl's eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't." She dared Hermione.

"Try me." The glare darkened, but she didn't push. With a harrumph, she led the others away. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Then she saw deep brown eyes watching her skeptically.

"I don't remember getting that memo." Hermione smiled softly.

"Don't you?" Draco scoffed beside of him.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Granger." His voice held a secret humor that Hermione didn't feel like interpreting.

"Blaise, were you ever taught a way to open things, besides _Alohamora_?" He gave her a strange look. "I read about it in _Zabinis Throughout the Ages _a few years back. Look, I know how to find Harry." Two pairs of eyes exchanged glances.

"Fine." They spoke at the same time. For a moment, she waited for them to start tap dancing together. They probably knew how to do it. They followed her out of the room without an argument. The walk up to Gryffindor Tower was slow and quiet, but she didn't dare break the silence. She was already overstepping her boundaries by asking him to use a family secret. When they finally stepped inside – after a quick _Lemon-Berry Sirens_ to the Fat Lady – lingering Gryffindors stared.

"We're doing a check-up on the common rooms. Scatter." Draco's words copied her own, but her house wasn't convinced. Multiple pairs of eyes looked to Hermione for reassurance. She gave a solemn nod, showing reluctance she didn't have about letting them in. The ever loyal lions accepted the excuse just like that and left. Sometimes she wondered if it were better to be in Slytherin. Gryffindors were so easy to fool. _Harry wouldn't be. _But Harry wasn't here.

"There's his dorm. It's the last bed on the left." Draco gave her a strange look, again, in synch with Blaise. "You need to unlock his trunk. I'm not a Zabini. It wouldn't be right for me to know your secrets." That got her a look even stranger than the first one. She rolled her eyes. "Look, just because I'm not a Pure Blood doesn't mean I'm not well-versed in your traditions. Now, go. And thank you." With another exchanged glance, a smirk from Blaise, and an off-put look from Draco, Blaise went into the dorm.

"I thought for sure you'd be dying to know how his secrets worked." Draco's voice was mocking.

"I am, but as much as I love knowledge, I respect privacy more. It's not my secret to know." And then came the question she was dreading.

"So, why can't you open the trunk?" Why couldn't she? Because it wasn't her secret to know either.

"He put spells around it in Parseltongue. The only people who could hope to open it are Harry and Voldemort, and Harry's missing and I'm crossing the line already by letting you and Blaise see into it, forget the Dark Lord." Yes, forget the Dark Lord. Forget the betrayal she was surely committing by letting them in, knowing full well that Voldemort could access their minds at any time. A moment passed in silence.

"He really is brilliant, you know." Shock flowed through Hermione at Draco's words.

"I thought you two…" She was unsure of how to phrase it.

"Rivals or not, it's a hard fact to miss. Sometimes, sometimes I wonder what the outcome of the war will be. We should win, what with our lack of morals and all, but there's always a chance." He stopped, apparently finding his explanation enough, but it wasn't enough. She didn't understand.

"A chance for what?" It was so confusing.

"A chance for redemption." She didn't understand.

**(***Blaise Zabini***)**

Blaise stared at the now open chest. He had never had to work so hard to open something. He had never expected Harry Potter to have such innocently dark spells protecting his possessions. He had never expected to see such innocently dark objects inside. Still, he could feel the power flowing through him from the spells and incantations. If one tried an _Alohamora_, there was an unknown blocking spell. Blaise had quickly rid the box of the simple protection. Past that it became more dangerous; more sinister. Blaise was glad Hermione had come to him for help. She would have died trying to open it. But what was more astounding? The outside or the in? Potions and books that the Ministry of Magic definitely wouldn't approve of were sitting neatly in the bottom of the wooden box, a cloak which only a fool wouldn't recognize had been folded into a precise square and sat on top of the objects. Blaise had peeled it back just as he had the layers of protection. But that was only half of it. There was a rolled up piece of parchment and a scrapbook – Harry's parents, Blaise assumed. They were next to a little black book with a hole dug into it which reeked of old blood. That and a Basilisk fang. How the hell did he get a hold of a Basilisk fang? Blaise knew for a fact that Basilisks, especially ones big enough to produce a fang that big, were strictly contraband. And by contraband, Blaise meant illegal. They could only be found in the darkest parts of the world, and even then it would be extremely hard to snatch a tooth. A pouch of money along with a few stones lined the side. The Zabini wasn't stupid enough to touch those.

"It's open." He said the words to an empty dorm, but he knew they heard. After all, he had heard everything they had been saying. Hermione raced up the steps and over to the trunk, quickly plucking the rolled up parchment of all things from the rectangular container. Barely sparing him or the now present Draco a glance, she unrolled it. He waited for a secret source of magic to burst up, or to see an encrypted spell to be scrawled onto it, but that wasn't the case. It was blank. Blank. All of that for a blank piece of paper? She quickly withdrew her wand and tapped the middle of the yellowed parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Then before his eyes, ink soaked through the paper, forming an exact replica of Hogwarts' grounds. Little feet with names next to them walked around. Up in Gryffindor Tower, three pairs of feet sat perfectly still: _Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy_. He couldn't believe it. All this time, he thought Potter had been clueless about their meetings, about whether or not the Dark Lord was on the move, but he had it all right there. He could see it all.

"Can this move to other places?" Brown eyes glanced up from the paper, and her mouth parted slightly, but she didn't respond right away. A minute passed.

"It can, but only Harry knows how to do it." Of course. Damn Potter, always keeping the important things to himself. Her eyes raced over the parchment again and again, more and more frantic each time. "_Where is he?_" Her voice cracked at the last possible moment. She wanted to cry, obviously. She wanted to scream and rant and rave like a child, and it showed, but she restrained herself. She held her poise. "Why couldn't he be more like you two?" That got his attention, the calm way she said such strange words. "Why couldn't he stop caring about hurting the people who attack him and just tear them down? Why couldn't he just shed their blood and be done with it?" The shocking words were accompanied by tears, but whether they were of anger or sadness was unsure. As the paper crinkled in her tight grip, she raised her wand and tapped it once more. "Mischief managed." The intricate drawings faded away to nothing. Shakily, she rerolled the map and placed it back in its spot, replacing the Cloak of Invisibility as she did so. After that, the trunk was closed with a soft click. Suddenly, without warning, the wards were back up. Blaise was taken aback with the new intensity of it, stronger than before by far.

"Stay here." He knew what he had to do. Watery brown orbs rose to meet determined chocolate. No questions were asked. It was clear that she didn't know what he was planning, but Draco was another story. Silvery-grey eyes narrowed. Blaise ignored the silent warning. There was a burning in his chest that he couldn't ignore, one to stop the flow of salty water from his beloved's eyes. It had been ingrained in him years ago never to let a woman cry. He wouldn't go back on that. He would go see Voldemort. Fear crawled through his veins. He was going to show up at the Dark Lord's mansion uninvited, and ask for a favor, at that. It was unheard of. It was reckless. It was the plan.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

He wasn't sure why Blaise was so enamored with Granger, but he was. He was so completely in love with the woman that he was willing to risk the Dark Lord's wrath. It was insane. He walked out of the Gryffindor dorms, and the Mudblood didn't follow. Down, he walked, from the highest point in the castle to the lowest. Down, he walked to Severus Snape's chambers. He hadn't slept all night. For once, he didn't waltz in to feel the pleasure of Severus's skilled hands run over his body, but to sleep. He just wanted to sleep. The password slipped from his lips and he nearly stumbled into the large room. A familiar bed which smelled of soap and potions felt comforted his weary body. Mere seconds past before he was slumbering away.

**(***Severus Snape***)**

Severus wouldn't pretend that he wasn't shocked to see Draco asleep on his bed. After he, Granger, Blaise, and Potter had failed to show up to class, Severus figured that he would be avoiding the professor. Yet here he was, chest rising and falling as softly as the rain. Truly, it was a sight to see, platinum blonde hair splayed out on his pillow, lips parted in a silent invitation. He looked like a dream. With gentle fingers, Severus brushed a few strands of hair out of Draco's face. The teen really had no idea of the effect he had on Severus, the power he held over the elder man's head.

"You have no idea." No idea how much Severus craved him; needed him; loved him. "No idea at all." But that didn't mean Draco was off the hook. No, he and the others would be receiving quite the tongue lashing come tomorrow. The tips of his fingers brushed against the youngest Malfoy's jaw. Tomorrow. For today, he had to get back to class.

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron looked at Ginny sadly. She was so strong, acting as if she was over Harry's betrayal. He did the same thing when he could contain himself: pretend. But she didn't have to. She could confide in him.

"Ginny?" She turned from her lunch, a smile on her face.

"Yes, Ron? What is it?" She sounded so happy. It was ridiculous.

"I know what you're doing." For a split second, panic filled her features.

"I-I don't know what you mean." Her voice shook lightly as she tried to laugh it off.

"Of course you do. You're feeling betrayed by Harry and acting like you don't care, like you're happy, to cover it up." He lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear, and relief flushed her face. She was clearly glad that he understood. "I can help you get over him for a while, until he comes back. After all, I miss him, too." Sadness leaked into his voice, and green eyes connected with blue. Light green darkened with empathetic sorrow.

"Or maybe," she hesitated, "maybe I can help you." She sounded unsure and was making no sense. How could she help him? "Quick, come with me." She grabbed his wrist and yanked him away from his unfinished lunch. It was almost unsettling, the strength she shouldn't have had. He followed her out of the Great Hall, out of the castle, and out to the lake. She stepped into the water without removing her shoes, going only far enough for it to cover her ankles. "Step in." He blanched at the thought of going into the water. It was disgusting and there were things which could kill him!

"I don't think we should be—" She didn't let him finish that thought.

"You want Harry back, don't you?" A slow nod was his response. "Then step on in." He did. The murky water sank into the soles of his shoes, making him feel uncomfortable. Somehow, it made him feel unwanted. And then the water began to swirl, around and around, climbing up his form. The water slipped out of the worn leather, carrying him out of the lake and to… to somewhere. When he opened his eyes, Harry was in front of him, bound to a chair by thick chains. He didn't look happy.

"Hello, Hun! I missed you!" She rushed over to the young Savior and tossed her hands around his neck. His lip curled upward in distaste.

"You'd see me more if I were back in class." The words were soft and controlled, as usual.

"But then you'd be off getting yourself hurt, or worse: a girlfriend." Emerald orbs narrowed.

"It's better than me dying in here, isn't it? Ron, talk some sense into her." But Ron could only stare. She had kidnapped Harry. His sister. It wasn't possible. "Ron." The insistent syllable didn't help the red head's confusion.

"You won't die, Harry. I'll keep you alive forever." She slid into Harry's lap more seductively than his sister should have been able to do. "And you'll enjoy it. Ron, you agree with my decision, right? You know that this was the only way to get our Harry back." It was true, Ron had needed a way to get Harry away from the darkness, but this wasn't the plan! Ginny turned back towards Ron, missing the annoyance sparking in emerald orbs. But Ron saw it. He saw something that shouldn't be pushed. Avoiding the subject, Ron questioned the chains holding Harry down.

"Are you sure he can't escape?" Surely, he could. He was Harry Potter.

"Of course not. These chains were made by Rowena Ravenclaw herself." She toyed with the metal. "He'll never escape on his own." A small giggle followed her words, leaving Ron to choose between friends and family. But, overall, it was for the greater good, right? Wait, the greater good? That's it! Dumbledore would know what to do!

"We should be getting back to class." It was avoidance. Ginny's eyes widened in worry.

"You won't tell, will you? You'll keep this between us, won't you?" She was pleading with him, forcing his clear blue eyes to focus shyly on his feet.

"No." The promise was a quiet one, a lie. He would tell the only person who could help: Dumbledore. The Headmaster always had Harry's best interests at heart. She smiled as Harry frowned, and they left without another word.

**(***Albus Dumbledore***)**

Albus popped a lemon drop into his mouth as he felt Ronald's magical signature approaching his gargoyle. He needed something to cheer him up, and what was better than news about Harry? Just before Ron could knock, Dumbledore spoke.

"Enter, my boy. I've been waiting for you." His voice was jovial, hiding his obvious lie. Ronald gave a nervous laugh as he entered.

"You have? Well, of course you have. You know everything, right? Stupid question. Um, I just wanted to ask you about something." So eager to please, Ronald was.

"Ask away, my boy." He was prepared for anything.

"Um, well, Ginny kind of… She kidnapped Harry and then we went through the lake and then he was chained up and I wanted to help him, but he's away from the Dark side now, so that's a good thing, right? And well, I just don't know what to do!" The breaths taken during his confession were few and far in between, causing Dumbledore to chuckle. He certainly hadn't been expecting such news, but he couldn't say it was a bad thing. Ginny was truly harmless, so there was no rush, but perhaps Harry should stay for a bit longer. The more broken he was, the easier he would be for Albus to fix up. And it would be a fix that Albus approved of, too.

"Just leave it to me, Ronald. I'll fix everything." Hope flashed in blue orbs.

"You will?" Of course he would.

"I will." When the time was right.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom was used to keeping his emotions under lock and key. It was rare that Tom felt anything other than light annoyance, cold satisfaction, or simple neutrality. Well, that's how it went until Harry Potter came along. Lust and frustration had been added to the list at that point. Now, after learning that his newest toy had been confiscated by some unworthy fool, fury wrote itself on as well. He hadn't even bothered to do anything other than dismiss Zabini. Depending on the state which he was going to find Harry in, the boy would either be severely punished or rewarded grandly. If he could only pinpoint Harry's location. Tom felt his magic pulse heatedly at the thought of not finding Harry. He had been probing the connection between them for the past few hours – ever since he found out – but nothing had come of it as of yet. The fact that even in such a time of crisis, Harry wouldn't surrender to him only made him more irate. Why couldn't he just surrender like a good little boy?

"Fuck." The word felt good on his lips, a bit of control slipping away like it always did where Harry was concerned. He had to reach the boy. Without pause, Tom pushed a large portion of his magic at the connection. Even against Harry's shields, some trickled through. That was more than most could have hoped for, but it was nowhere near enough for the Dark Lord. He had to find Harry. He had to taste the boy on his lips once more; the magic on his core. He craved it like nothing else. His breathing lightened considerably as a slight bit of Harry's magic slipped through the small hole he had created before closing again. Harry was his drug, but he could control the addiction. He could control Harry. All he had to do was make his green eyed tempter see that, too. And he would. When the magic stopped, his breath constricted once more, leaving him taking uncomfortably small breaths. It was unfair, how much leverage the young man had over him. That would change soon, though. Soon, it would be Harry who would do anything to get close to him: a sniveling dog. And then Tom would tire of him and all would be well. His magic pulsed more erratically than before. He had to get to Harry first. Again, he pressed against the barrier, but this time it didn't budge. This time, Harry had reinforced his fields.

"Fuck." As soon as Tom succeeded in saving Harry from an untimely death, the Dark Lord was going to kill him.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Voldemort didn't nudge the barrier between their minds, he slung at it with a sledge hammer on steroids. Really, it was tempting to let him through, but that would be acknowledging defeat. He couldn't let Voldemort think that he had forgiven him; that he belonged to the egocentric Dark Lord.

"Harry, why won't you just admit that you love me?" Ginny again. He had wondered when she would be back.

"Because I don't." He was fairly hungry though.

"But you do! You love me more than anything else in the world, and you know it!" He did? Really, it always seemed that people knew so much more about him than he did.

"I'm actually quite fond of Quidditch." A wondrous sport, that it was. Ginny, apparently, didn't share his sentiments.

"Screw Quidditch! You love _me_!" Right, no.

"Not really. Look, Ginny, you're a sweet girl, but-" He paused as a wand was pressed to his throat.

"But nothing. You love me." Really, he didn't think that was it.

"But I just don't think we're right for each other. It's not you. It's me." The words only seemed to make her angrier, which didn't make sense because I was the truth. He just wasn't the right person to make her happy.

"_Crucio_." Now that, Harry could honestly say he hadn't been expecting. Pain raced through him, though not nearly as much as when Voldemort cast it. Voldemort. Tom. Why did it always come back to him? Harry sat perfectly still through the torture, unwilling to give in at such a minor annoyance. That's when it happened: the chains began to burn. By the way that Ginny sat on top of him, unaffected, he knew that they weren't actually burning, but damn if it didn't feel like it. Tom's Dark magic pulsed in the back of his mind, begging for the barrier to fall. As the burning grew hotter, Harry gave in. The barrier crashed down, leaving Harry to gasp under the sheer force of Voldemort's magic. He had never imagined such pleasure was possible. Ginny seemed to take it as a reaction to her, but that wasn't the case. It could never be the case. She just wasn't that good.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom couldn't help the triumphant smirk which curled onto his lips as Harry's magic fell upon him in gentle yet nearly destructive waves. He could feel the beauty of it already. He could feel the pleasure flowing through Harry just as much as he could feel the pain. His smirk widened. Perhaps the pain of it would help the boy learn his place. Swiftly, The Dark Lord allowed Harry's magic to carry him back to its source. He wasn't disappointed. He was, however, angry. Ginny straddled the young Savior's lap while staring at him like her next meal. She couldn't do that. Harry was his next meal.

"Remove yourself." She whipped around, eyes wide with something between terror and awe. When her surprised orbs laid themselves in him, desire entered into the equation. It was a common reaction, but that only kept his eye for a moment. No, it was the startling emeralds which floored him upon contact. They were hooded yet attentive through a haze of pleasure, much like Tom imagined they would be after a night of rough shagging. Upon seeing Tom, the lids closed fully and Harry adopted a look which could only be described as 'Damn-everything-to-Hell-and-back.' When they opened once more they were bored, resentful, and lightly impatient. It didn't look as if Harry was in a very pleasant mood.

"Who are you?" It was pathetic the way that ten seconds passed and she was groveling already. He wished Harry would do that.

"Guess." The word was snarled softly before Tom shot a burst of pure magic at the girl, watching with sadistic glee as it pierced her magical core. She screamed, of course, as her life was slowly drained away, and for that Tom was glad. As much as he would love to stay and watch her die, and he really would, Tom had better things – _Harry_ – to do. Two long strides carried Tom over to Harry's side.

"Voldemort." Obviously, Harry was making his guess. With a smirk, Tom leaned down and held Harry's chin between his forefinger and his thumb, an iron grip forcing emeralds to stare into rubies.

"Coming from you, I prefer Tom." Only Harry.

_Only Harry. _


	12. Chapter Twelve

_**Author's Note:**____ We all know that Harry and Tom are very closely matched. For you lovelies that read the Author's note, I'm willing to give a prize. Put in a review telling me whether when it comes down to it, Tom or Harry should be stronger. This, contrary to popular belief, isn't a cry for reviews. If you don't feel like saying anything about the story, just put Harry or Tom and send it in. I need a victor._

_**Disclaimer:**____ I own Harry Potter just about as much as I own Pluto._

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom easily broke the chains tying Harry down before grabbing the front of the younger male's robes and smashing their lips together. The taste of nothing; of Harry; of _life_ flooded him once more as Harry gasped. Tom slipped his tongue inside as the younger man's phenomenal magic flushed against him, clearly against its master's will. His magic wanted Tom just as much as Tom wanted his magic. The Dark Lord easily pushed them through his Dark magic and back to his chamber, never breaking the kiss. It wasn't even a kiss, really, but a sacrifice. Tom was devouring him like the innocent little lamb that he was, slipping his right hand around from the front of Harry's shirt to the back of his neck to ensure that the boy couldn't pull away and his left down to the edge of the shirt beneath the robes. Traitorous things, robes were. They should be burned. Or at least removed from the possession of Harry Potter.

A quiet moan slipped up Harry's throat, and Tom drank that down as well, feeling his lips slip into a smirk in the process. He had more experience than the little virgin could resist. Yes, he would have the savior moaning his name in no time. Without warning, Harry reeled back into Tom's now relaxed hand, gasping for air. The Dark Lord tightened the grip on his nemesis's neck and forced them back together. The intense look of lust mixed with light confusion had been too much. He had his drug back, and he intended to get his fix before attempting control once more. After another moment, Harry tentatively responded, tongue innocuously trying to jump into the fray. _That_ had Tom groaning, strangely enough: not the magic, but the quiet shyness in which Harry was slowly giving in. Without a second thought, he swung them away from the wall, crimson orbs watching Harry intensely throughout the kiss. Emeralds which had been covered by thin layers of skin snapped open as Tom easily ripped Harry off of him – effectively breaking the kiss – and tossed him onto the bed. The younger male was so light.

"Wha-" The slightly slurred word wasn't finished as Tom was on top of Harry once more, lips cutting him off without a second thought. This time, Harry kissed back more fiercely. A smaller, less devious smirk drew itself on Tom's lips. It was cute, the way that Harry thought he could win. Without mercy, Tom began to fight back and mere seconds passed before he was dominating the kiss once more. Suddenly, the pure, whimsical magic of harry vanished. He still tasted like air and water personified, but it wasn't the same. It was only a component of his drug. The immortal man pulled back with a snarl. Determined green eyes stared back at him.

"I don't belong to you." There were those words again; the stupid, selfish words of a delusional child. The boy was resisting; evading; trying to prove a lie. Harry was his. But if that was true then why couldn't Tom just force him to bring his magic back out? Why did the Potter keep taunting him with his sinfully beautiful magic? It couldn't be that Harry didn't belong to him. Harry _did _belong to him, just not yet. Long moments passed in silence, only Harry's heavy breathing trying its best to even out stopping Tom from thinking that Time had halted completely.

"You are _not_ my equal." No one was his equal. Green and red battled for dominance, a battle which was not so easily won. Finally, feverishly, they reached a truce. Tom's lips crashed back onto Harry's as the young man's magic slipped out once more. Their tongues clashed along with their magic as the two opposing forces swirled around them. Neither of them would get what they wanted. The Dark Lord gained dominance in the kiss with ease. Not yet. Harry moaned under him and Tom's magic flowed a little faster. Its Light counterpart followed suit. That was when the crimson eyed male first noticed it: Harry's magical core. Tom was immortal because his core had been completely filled with Dark magic and overflowed to the seams which kept him together. Harry Potter's core, it was almost to that point. He was extremely close to joining Tom in immortality. At that, Tom froze, jerking back just enough so that their lips weren't touching. Hazy emeralds were uncovered, and Tom found himself caught, for a euphoric moment, in the eyes of an angel. He was drowning in a sea of green, unable to pull away from such perfectly innocent orbs.

But the moment passed, and oxygen filled his lungs once again. Harry was nothing more than a pawn; something to use as he pleased and throw away afterwards. Tom couldn't throw the boy away if he was immortal. Cunning crimson narrowed as Harry started to regain his senses. But he could do _this_. He could fell the younger male's magic rolling over him for the rest of eternity while they just lay there: breathing each other's air. Finally, green narrowed as well, though more incredulously than anything else. It was impossible. If Harry found out that he was going to be immortal as well, if he found out that they would, magically, be on equal grounds, the young man would never submit to him. And that was something he just couldn't risk. Decision made, Tom placed one more kiss on the still trembling lips beneath him. In the end, Harry was just one drug he would have to do without.

**(***Albus Dumbledore***)**

It wasn't the lifeless girl lying on the floor which made the twinkle leave light blue orbs, but the empty chair beside of her. Harry Potter was gone. This just wouldn't do.

"Ginny! Ginny, no! You can't be gone, c'mon! Wake up, Ginny!" Ronald Weasley's sobs didn't help his thinking process at all. He should have left the boy up at the castle. Another choked sob escaped the tall, gangly red head. Or perhaps he shouldn't have.

"There is a way to save her, my boy." In reality, there was nothing. Dead was dead. But Ronald didn't know that.

"What? _How_? I'll do anything!" Ronald was cradling his sister's lifeless form like the most precious of porcelain dolls, and Albus blessed his soul. It was heartbreaking, but sacrifices had to be made. Time was running out.

"You have to get me the one who killed her. If I remove the assailant's magical core, she can be brought back." Lies. It was all lies, but they were necessary. Soon, maybe mere days from now, Harry's magical core would reach completion. Albus had to remove and consume it before then. If he did, it would restore his youth and he would go on under a different alias, just as he had all the other times. Albus would go down in history yet again, and a new leader – _he_ – would arise and fight for the Greater Good, just as he had when he had been Merlin. Just as he would again. All he needed was Harry's core.

"Who did it?" The shaky words were unabashedly loyal. Albus granted him a rare, true smile.

"Who do you think, my boy?" A singly, wrinkled hand motioned to the chair which he was sure the Savior of the Wizarding World had been chained to.

"Harry." The name was said with such conviction that Albus was sure that his plan would pull through yet. The Greater Good would prevail, no matter the costs. With a light twinkle in his eyes, Albus thought of the little boy which Harry had been visiting at the orphanage every summer. No matter the costs.

**(***Sirius Black***)**

Sirius didn't remember his bed being this comfortable. Stormy grey eyes opened, still dazed from sleep. He also didn't remember his room being filled with different shades of grey. Confused orbs blinked out of sight for a split second. He didn't remember it being so because his room wasn't done in shades of grey, but blue. Odd. Once more, thin, fleshy lids covered Sirius's eyes. When they opened again, shock was the main component of the storm.

"_Shit!_" If Remus had been there, Sirius would have been berated for using such language, but Remus wasn't there. He was at Rodolphus's house. In Rodolphus's bed. Naked. Damn it all to hell. Quickly spotting the clothes on the dresser, Sirius sprung off of the bed and yanked on the appropriate pieces of cloth. They smelled like Rodolphus. The room smelled like Rodolphus. _He_ smelled like Rodolphus. If this was God's idea of a joke, Sirius wasn't laughing. He raced out of the room after putting the too-big clothes on and ended up in the library before he could really register where he intended to go. Rodolphus sat calmly on his usual chair, book in hand. How could the man look so scrupulous, even in such a terrible situation?

"Good evening." Evening? Remus was going to murder him.

"Um, hi. Look, I'm sorry about coming here and hexing Bellatrix and taking your bed and everything, but what happened last night?" He remembered everything, but none of it could be right. Rodolphus wouldn't kiss him. It was preposterous.

"It depends." Grey eyes narrowed as Rodolphus responded without looking up.

"It does not _depend_! If something happened, it happened, if it didn't, it didn't! That's _it_!" Surely, it wasn't a kiss that had Sirius yearning to pick up a book of hexes and curses.

"It depends on what 'something' is." And that's when Sirius caught on. Rodolphus was mocking him.

"Rudy!" Chocolate brown orbs stayed focused on the page.

"Sirius." Perhaps that was what the elder Pureblood didn't realize: that Sirius wasn't a play-toy. He wasn't someone to be mocked.

"Did we fucking kiss or not?" The question came out less controlled than Sirius had hoped, but the small smirk playing on Rodolphus's lips told Sirius that the man had been expecting as much.

"We did." The response was as calmly amused as the man who spoke it, and it was with unintended breaths that Sirius asked his next question.

"Then why the hell are you still over there?" That hadn't been the inquiry that the Animagus had been going for, but it got Rodolphus to look up. Their eyes connected. For one breathless moment, Sirius thought that Rodolphus was going to waltz over and given him the X-rated version of last night's kiss, but that passed and the elder man was still sitting down in a chair across the room. "Rudy?" Moments passed in silence.

"If he doesn't kill me first, I promise I'll finish fixing you." The quiet promise made Sirius blink. What? Slowly, Rodolphus shut his book, an answer sitting patiently on his lips. "You're a distraction, Sirius. I played the part of the fool perfectly and got distracted. Bellatrix is gone." At that, all of Sirius's Auror training kicked in. Why hadn't he said that in the first place?

**(***Bellatrix Lestrange***)**

Bellatrix grinned wildly as she looked at the outside world without a magical leash around her throat. Rodolphus had been strict with her, just as her Lord had ordered him to be, but that didn't make her like it any more. It wasn't her Lord's magic which constricted her, so there was no reason to enjoy the restriction. Besides, she was sure that the only reason he hadn't brought her back to his bed was that she wasn't powerful enough. But now she was. Now she had Lucius's magic. Well, she had half of it. Just as Lucius held half of her magic. All she had to do was initiate a kiss with the man and all of their combined powers would become hers. The incantation had already been put in place during their quick bout of sex. He would die as she drained his magical core, for sure. After all, there was no reason for Lucius to want to kiss her. She just had to find the Malfoy once more. Rodolphus would never leave them alone together again, so she had no other choice but to escape. And her idiot cousin had played right into it. She wasn't sure why such a near-perfect Pureblood like Rodolphus was so enamored with the blood-traitor, of all people, but he was.

That was all Bellatrix had needed. At noon, she had left, knowing that Rodolphus was focusing on nothing more than her cousin's magical signature. Soon, she would be able to do that as well, and her Lord would be pleased. Oh, how her Lord would be pleased. First, though, she had to gather some supplies. After that, well, who knew? Perhaps she would get lucky and the Dark Lord would call a surprise meeting tonight, and she would get to put her plan into motion early. But first she needed those ingredients. And Severus Snape, whether he liked it or not.

**(***Severus Snape***)**

Severus stared at the vile of potion in his hands. It had been made by Harry Potter not so long ago, and it still amazed him. Never would Severus be able to produce the silvery liquid on his own. In o fact, the only other known sample of it was made by Merlin himself all those years ago, and it was kept under lock and key. Yet he had some, too. Voldemort and he. The Dark Lord had taken most of it, but the man had left him a vile. An entire vile. It didn't seem like much, but it was more than Severus could ever have asked for. The point of the potion was simple really: health. It could heal a person of cancer or Aids or even regrow a vital organ in seconds. No other potion was like it, but it took a lot. It took a vile to save a life. Exactly one vile; no more, no less. He had one vile. He had one life. It didn't matter that the Dark Lord had a dozen at his disposal because Severus had _one_. He only needed one.

"I will have my family." The spell hit him before the words. Severus assumed he had been _Stupefied_, but he couldn't be sure. As the glass vile rolled away, luckily unbroken, Severus glared. At least, he would have glared if he could move his eyelids. He would also be grounding out the word Lucius and hexing the man into oblivion. Since he could do none of that he settled for staring pointedly at the edge of the vile out of his peripheral vision. At least the blonde wasn't smart enough to realize just how valuable the potion was. A silent spell had him floating off of the ground, enough to see both Lucius's smirk and, more surprisingly, potion ingredients. What he didn't see was the letter Lucius sat on the table behind him, the Malfoy Crest proudly gluing the envelope shut.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus couldn't remember being this happy since the day his friends had accepted him back at Hogwarts. Narcissa was just as charming in person as she was from afar. All day they had been chatting as if they were old friends catching up after Christmas vacation. He barely registered that Sirius had never returned from his walk. And by barely, Remus meant that every moment not spent ogling Narcissa's almost otherworldly grace was spent either checking the time or glancing nervously at the door. A fair amount of time was spent on each task.

"You're really worried about him, aren't you?" Remus blinked before looking back over at Narcissa's soft features. She looked so much more delicate without the Malfoy mask in place. If only she would shed the Black Family mask as well and show a smile or two.

"Is it really that obvious?" Her eyes asked if he really wanted her to answer the question, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes. It's just that he's never stayed out so long without telling me. And he's still a wanted man. I'm just overreacting, I suppose." Remus tried to brush it off as nothing, but his heart beat faster at the thought of his best friend getting sent to Askaban yet again. The man didn't deserve such suffering.

"Would you like to go look for him? I'm not sure how much his tastes have changed, but if he anything like the boy I used to know, he's probably gotten himself in quite a bit of trouble by now." Remus smiled at that. Sirius _did_ have a knack for getting into trouble. Misfortune just followed Sirius at the heels, much like it did Harry.

"Would you mind?" Making her search the city for Sirius hadn't been what Remus had wanted to do that day. She smiled, though wearily, and looked more contemplative than he had even seen it before.

"He_ is_ my cousin, Remus. I can't exactly refuse." She didn't sound against it, but she wasn't exactly jumping to look for him, either.

"You don't have to go with me, Narcissa." He would never force her to do anything. A moment passed before she stood, a look of raw determination on her face.

"I want to help you find him, but do you mind if we take a detour first?" Remus cocked a brow at the odd question.

"To where?" It wasn't a testing question, but a curious one.

"Hogwarts." And then everything made sense again. She wanted to get to Draco before Lucius did.

"Of course." She looked grateful as he agreed to her request, but it wasn't really a matter of how much he liked her, but of who they were looking for. Sirius was a grown man. He could take care of himself. Draco, however, well… He was no Harry Potter.

**(***Hermione Granger***)**

"Blaise, why are you so fidgety?" The young man hadn't sat still for hours now. The Slytherin Common Room had cleared out, courtesy of a barked order from Draco, and the three friends – if they could be called that – had sat down to talk. Only they hadn't said a word. Blaise had stood up and began to pace, glancing at his right forearm every few minutes.

"I told the Dark Lord about Potter's predicament." Her eyes widened, not wanting to believe that Harry was possibly at the wrath of Voldemort that very moment. "He just sent me away." It was at that point which Draco strutted into the conversation.

"What do you mean he just sent you away? He either punished you or rewarded you! That's what he does!" The Malfoy said it almost as if his vision of the Dark Lord was taking a blow, as if his own pride was taking a blow.

"He sent me away. I told him that Potter was missing and then he dismissed me. You don't think I was freaked out by the lack of reaction? I could rest easily knowing that I shouldn't have done it or that it was the right choice. But standing here doing nothing? It's like I'm waiting for the verdict on whether I'll be sentenced to life in Askaban or not!" A slow panic rose in his voice, making Hermione cringe a little. She should be used to whirling emotions, what with being the best friend of Harry Potter and all, but Harry had never really shared his turmoil. He had always sheltered her from the darker things conspiring in his life; protected her from what he didn't believe she could handle. And while she resented him for not trusting her, she understood. Harry had been forced to grow up much too fast, and had been able to handle so much more than she previously liked to believe she could.

"I think it's because Harry's not like other people." Silver and brown eyes swung over to meet her, demanding an explanation. "Well, he won't bow to Voldemort's will. He can't be forced into submission, either. He's around the same level as your Dark Lord, actually. If anything, I think he's enjoying the challenge Harry is presenting, as horrible as it sounds. I think he didn't know how to react when you said that Harry was gone because somehow, in his head, he considers Harry _his_ challenge. And yes, I have thought about this before. If I'm going to be a Psychologist, I have to be able to delve into all sorts of minds." She went ahead and answered the second question before it was asked. It was bound to come.

"Don't kid yourself, Granger. There's no way Potter is anywhere near as powerful as the Dark Lord." There was neither a lack of confidence nor assurance in Malfoy's words. Hermione, not to be outdone, scoffed at him. Perhaps she really had been spending too much time with the Slytherins after all. At this rate, she'd be casting hexes at people for no reason at all.

"Voldemort may be older, he may be stronger, he may be faster, but the _only_ reason that he could ever hope to beat Harry is because Harry's kinder, more loving, and he's willing to do absolutely anything for anyone, no matter who they are! Your Dark Lord could never even dream of being so great." Never. Never could anyone be so wonderful as Harry.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but Draco has a point. Heart doesn't get you anywhere in this world." Blaise's Italian accent bled through to his voice more thickly than usual, unconsciously showing that he meant what he was saying. She could hardly believe her ears. Were Purebloods really so brainwashed that they didn't think heart had to do with anything? It was a near-heartbreaking revelation.

"Neither does staying up all night when there's a Quidditch match to be played tomorrow." A deep voice that Hermione just barely recognized rang throughout the nearly empty room. Hermione spun around to see Jackary standing in the doorway. "Potter will be back tomorrow, so stop moping around and keeping the rest of us awake." She knew it was best not to push him, knew by the danger lurking behind seemingly bored, dark blue orbs. Well, her Gryffindor courage had never failed her before.

"Us?" Just how many people were listening in?

"Adrian and I. He's waiting for you in the Gryffindor common room right now. Personally, I don't like having Adrian off-guard in times like these. Just so, I don't feel like losing terribly to the Gryffindors simply because you couldn't stand getting to sleep in time for curfew." That was definitely the most she had ever heard the usually silent Slytherin say not only in one sitting, but ever.

"He'll be back tomorrow?" Midnight blue, nearly violet eyes pierced worried chocolate, almost as if inquiring if she had really just asked such a stupid question. Somehow, that was enough. "Then I'll tell Adrian that he doesn't have to worry." The man's expression didn't change, but his eyes flashed, as if in warning. She had better tell Adrian, that was what Jackary was saying. It wasn't even a threat, really, but the only Mudblood in the room found she felt safer taking it as such. No other words were spoken, and Hermione took the dense silence as her cue to leave. "See you tomorrow." And with a quick kiss to Blaise's cheek, still unsure of what, exactly, they were, Hermione rushed out the door. Something was off about Salem, and for once, she didn't want to know what it was.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco didn't take his eyes off of Salem, even as the Mudblood rushed out of the Slytherin common room. He just wasn't someone that you turned your back on. Draco couldn't keep that philosophy as a flaring pain shot up his arm. It was stronger than usual, more commanding. Draco knew that there was no time to waste. With a glare in Salem's direction, Draco focused on his Dark Mark, knowing that it would take him wherever the Dark Lord wanted him to be. This was bad. Voldemort had told Blaise to have Potter willing to go to the next meeting, and Potter was still missing. If Blaise really hadn't gotten punished before, he was sure to be now. Damn it all.

Still, Draco couldn't help but remember the condescendingly blank look that Salem had given him as he disappeared. It wasn't fair. He wasn't better. He wasn't worth more than Draco. After all, Draco was a Malfoy, and no one was worth more than a Malfoy, except maybe a Riddle. Or, as much as he hated to admit it, a Potter. And he _did_ hate to admit it, but at least the emerald orbs had never looked at him with such disinterest, as if he wasn't worth the dirt he walked on. It made him feel like he didn't know anything. His feet hit the ground with grace that he held only through years and years of practice. The rest of the Deatheaters were gathered around, seeming slightly unsure of what to do with all of their colleagues unmasked. Sure, they knew who was who, but they weren't used to seeing faces when it came to Deatheater business, only cold, lifeless masks proclaiming rank. Draco was only partially perturbed by the change in atmosphere as he stood in his usual spot and looked around. The Dark Lord hadn't arrived yet. More importantly, Severus hadn't arrived yet. The Potions Master was usually the first on the scene. The absence of his father and Bellatrix only heightened Draco's sense of alert. This wasn't good.

Draco's knees hit the floor without his consent as The Dark Lord's presence filled the overly large room. He barely noticed; mind still stuck on the three people not in attendance. Where could they be? Where could Severus be?

"Don't look so apprehensive, my loyal followers. We appear to have guests." Voldemort's voice was as smooth as sin, and Draco barely heard it. Guests? And that was when he spotted them: Remus Lupin standing next to his mother, Sirius Black beside _Rodolphus Lestrange_, and, up at the front… Fuck.

"_Potter_." Draco couldn't stop the name from slipping out of his mouth. It was impossible.

"We have three guests, almost as if to replace three who aren't here." There was a dark sort of humor in the man's voice, arousing Draco's darker interests. It almost felt as if the Dark Lord was looking at him. He knew that he shouldn't do it, but Draco risked a glance up. He didn't raise his head, only his eyes, and they met crimson the instant he did. Deep, crimson pools sparkled with something Draco couldn't identify. "The three who don't appear to be joining us anytime soon." Draco's eyes darted back down to the ground as he stiffened. Why wouldn't Severus be coming? He was always there! He was the Dark Lord's left hand! Suddenly, a loud crack alerted him of a newcomer. The young Malfoy didn't dare look up again. He was lucky he wasn't under the _Cruciatus _curse for the first glance.

"My Lord! Lucius, he has taken Severus! I found this in Severus's classroom!" Bellatrix's panicked yet still less-than-sane voice rang throughout the meeting hall. Draco couldn't tell whether the beating of his heart sped up immensely or slowed to a stop. Though he wanted to look up, he didn't think he could. What had Bellatrix found? There was a momentary pause until the Dark Lord's voice entered into the equation again.

"Dear Draco, the family will be together again. Your father, Lucius. Interesting." This time, Draco couldn't stop himself from raising his head. Voldemort was looking straight at him, almost as if waiting for him to do so. Emerald orbs didn't escape Draco's line of vision either. "It seems that Lucius didn't approve of my decision." His father had Severus? But Severus was a better dueler, was more powerful, wasn't he? Lucius must have caught the Potions Master off guard. It was the only way; a way that didn't bode well for either Severus or Draco. Lucius Malfoy had no morals. There was no guarantee that the professor would get out alive, or was still alive now, even. "No matter. They're expendable." Expendable? Severus? Draco was on his feet before he could register what he was doing. Bellatrix's wand in front of his face stopped him from going any farther.

"You are not to show such disrespect in front of the Dark Lord!" Draco went for his own wand in response, but Potter beat him to it.

"I came here for a duel with Tom, not to watch you come in here pretending to care about Snape when it's obvious all you want is to finish taking the rest of Lucius's magic." Tom? Who the hell was Tom? And what did he mean the_ rest_ of Lucius's magic? What was going on? "I've never cared much for Malfoy," and somehow Draco knew that Potter was speaking about his father, "but my Potions grade depends on Snape, so he's not exactly as dependable as some idiots would like to think." Draco waited for Potter to fall to the ground in pain for insulting the Dark Lord, but glancing away from the two people standing in front of him and to the gorgeous man on the thrown, he only saw amusement sparking in crimson pools. In a spilt second, Draco took another glance around to see everyone else still on the ground with their heads down. The only people standing were Potter, Bellatrix, Lupin, Black, and him.

"You fool! The Dark Lord will kill you! He has more power in a single strand of hair than you could ever hope to have!" Something strange, something cold, something _dark_ flitted into emerald orbs.

"That may be so, but there are some things that he's a bit off about, like how to deal with defiance for instance." Draco's eyes widened. _Potter _was going to _torture_? "He inflicts pain, but pain fades. Sure, it leaves a lingering amount of fear, but that's it. If that's how you want to warn someone, then you don't need the pain, only the fear. But how do you inflict fear, I wonder?" The question was rhetorical, and Draco stood frozen in his place, unsure of what was to come next. "Tell me, Bellatrix, what do purebloods despise the most?" This time, it was obvious that the green-eyed male wanted an answer.

"Muggles." Draco answered for Bellatrix as it became obvious that she wasn't going to.

"Correct. And do you know what makes a muggle a muggle?" This time, Draco didn't open his mouth. "Their lack of contact with their magical cores." And then Bellatrix crashed to the floor, gasping for breath. Potter put away his wand slowly but not hesitantly. "So if you cut off a wizard's or witch's access to his or her magical core, they become a…" _A muggle. _"Correct again." Had he said that aloud? Apparently so. If Draco hadn't been wary of Potter before, he certainly was now. "And being a muggle after experiencing magic makes you feel weak, defenseless," Potter knelt down, strange look still lingering in his eyes, "_pathetic_, doesn't it?" Shaky breaths that sounded almost, faintly, like sobs fell from Bellatrix's lips as she lay on the floor, unresponsive to Potter's questions. Gently, the only remaining Potter threaded his hand into Bellatrix's messy black hair and lifted her head. His other hand softly wiped a tear from under her eye. "Doesn't it?" The inquiry was barely above a whisper, and a flash of fear flared in Draco. Potter was kind and cruel at the same time: too nice to harm and too powerful to disregard. He could always count on the Dark Lord to resort to unimaginable amounts of pain, but there was no telling what Potter would do.

Slowly, Bellatrix nodded. "Yes." The word held more submissive obedience in it than Draco had ever heard before. The tears and pain could be heard as well, making Draco decide then and there that he never wanted to experience being a muggle.

"Good." She gasped again, but this time it wasn't out of shock or pain. Obviously, he had unlocked her magical core. "Next time you won't get it back." Emeralds turned toward Draco, shining as warmly as ever. "Be careful." Draco took that as his cue to leave and turned to rush out of the meeting area. The Dark Lord's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Is he really so important that you're willing to miss the naming of my protégé?" The not so subtle hint made Draco blink. This was his chance. Voldemort wanted him as his protégé. If he left, that chance would disappear. This was it. This was what he had been waiting for: his chance at the Dark Lord. But was it worth losing Severus? After all, the elder male was just a fuck buddy. He was just someone to take his frustrations out on, to talk to. He was just someone Draco could turn to in hard times, and someone to joke with in the bad. Severus was just—just – just his _everything_. How could he have not realized this sooner? Without a second thought Draco sprinted out of the meeting area, using apparition as soon as it was physically possible. He landed just outside of Hogwarts's apparition zone. Draco could only hope that Severus was still in the building because if his father had taken the Potions Master elsewhere, there was almost no chance of finding them.

**(***Lucius Malfoy***)**

Lucius looked at the potion the he had brewed under the watch of Severus under Veritaserum. It had taken a bit, but he had figured out what the catch was to Bellatrix's magic exchange. Now all he had to do was drink the potion and kiss Bellatrix. And kill the Dark Lord. His family would come together as one and Malfoys would reign supreme. That much, he would make sure of. Severus Snape hung on the wall across from him, glaring silently. Lucius didn't mind. It was almost time for a Malfoy family reunion. A small hiss escaped his lips as his right forearm burned, but he ignored that. The Dark Lord would have to wait. For only a little bit longer, the Dark Lord would have to wait. And then Lucius would get him as well. It was all a matter of time.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_**Author's Note:**____ The tally was extremely close, but I think I got something that'll make everyone happy. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ I want s'mores. Harry Potter doesn't have s'mores, so for the moment, I don't even want it. …Okay, that's a lie. I still want it, but that doesn't make it mine! Yeah, I know, damn. _

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Bellatrix Lestrange***)**

It was with renewed strength that Bellatrix crawled over to the Dark Lord. If Potter knew of her plans then the Dark Lord certainly did. And he would be proud of her and her accomplishments. He would want her once more, forever more.

"Milord?" Deep crimson orbs looked down. His long, aristocratic fingers ran through Bellatrix's hair gently.

"You've done well, Bellatrix, but can you tell me why you were at Hogwarts, away from Rodolphus?" His voice rolled over her in waves as she snuggled against the side of his leg. He was asking her for show, obviously.

"I ran away to please you, Milord. You see, I've exchanged magic with Lucius, and I needed Severus's help to complete the transition. I'll be more powerful, just for you, and more loyal than Lucius ever dreamed of being." The Dark Lord understood. He knew what she was doing was best.

"But didn't I tell you to stay with Rodolphus? Didn't you disobey me by going through with your plan?" Bellatrix's eyes widened as she looked up into the calm, uncaring eyes that she loved. The hand didn't leave her hair.

"Yes, Milord, but you must understand! I only-" She stopped speaking as the hand tightened. Why wasn't her Lord pleased?

"Must I, Bellatrix?" The hand released her. "Don't think for a moment that Harry was joking about your warning. Pull something like this again, and you'll live to regret it." It was a threat that she had never heard before, and she was only hearing it because Potter had somehow hexed her Lord. She just needed to be more powerful. She just needed Lucius's magic. "Go and take your place by Rodolphus, and hope that your cousin doesn't hold too much resentment towards you. It appears that he holds some sway over your keeper." Something akin to fear shot through her. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. It was a test. That was all. Her Lord was testing her to see if she would still go through with her plans. It was a test she was determined to pass.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus was neither shocked nor appalled at Harry's actions. He had expected worse results with all that Harry had gone through. As soon as Remus had gotten the chance to show his true self he had taken it, and the results had been disastrous. He had killed so many people that it wasn't even funny, and he had regretted it afterwards, but the fact wasn't that he was sorry, but that he had done it in the first place. Yet Harry expressed himself with a suave sense of calm which left no room for regrets. It was inflicting fear without pain, just as Harry had said. If nothing else, Remus felt like congratulating him. Kind but cruel, innocent but mature, the ultimate human being. That was Harry. Remus could only hope that one day the Boy-Who-Lived could find someone as wonderful as he. Somehow, Remus doubted that would happen. No one could ever match up to Harry Potter.

"Harry, come here for a minute, would you?" Remus beckoned the young man over and Sirius walked over as well. The watchful eyes of Voldemort followed them.

"Rise, my followers." Remus watched as the rest of the people in the room got to their feet, all seeming split between staring at the trio of do-gooders and staring submissively at the hem of their Lord's robes. Remus ignored them.

"I came here because I was with Narcissa when she was called. I have no doubt that Sirius was with Rodolphus at the time of the summoning, explaining his presence, but I don't have a clue as to who you were with." Harry simply shrugged at Remus's roundabout way of questioning him and jabbed a thumb behind him, towards Voldemort. Remus couldn't say he was surprised.

"I was ambushed by Ravenclaws, shocked and cursed into submission by Ginny, taken captive and, on a side note, being kidnapped is extremely _boring_, then she cast a _Crucio_ on me, which was quite annoying, and the chains that held me started to burn. I really didn't feel like sitting through the burning because I'm pretty sure her next plan to get me to love her was rape, so I let the barrier in my mind down and he showed up. Next thing I know Ginny is dead and I'm here, give or take a few details." Remus raised a brow at the not-short yet not-long story.

"A few details?" Remus could never trust Harry with 'a few details.' They always ended up being slightly monumental.

"A kiss and a curse and a betrayal or two. The usual. Oh, and Tom and I are going to duel to determine who's stronger." A curse and a few betrayals were, indeed, the usual, but Remus didn't remember Harry getting kissed very often. Ever, in fact. Also, he knew from Harry's discoveries that Tom was Voldemort, but when had the two men gotten on such good terms? Remus certainly hadn't missed the Dark Lord calling Harry by his first name, either.

"Is it to the death or just to see who's stronger?" While he had many questions, that one was the most prominent.

"It depends on the mood at the end of the duel, I suppose. Most likely though, it's to the death. Nothing to worry about, Remus. If I die, I'm dead. If I don't I'm not." The easy way which Harry spoke of his own death, with such a soft smile, left Remus frowning.

"Harry, take your own advice and be careful, alright?" Remus whispered caringly. Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder, getting the boy to turn towards him instead of Remus. It was alright. Considering it was possibly the last time that either of them would speak to Harry, it was all fine.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom watched as Sirius Black spoke to Harry in soft tones. A few short hours ago things had been different, not by much, but still different.

_Decision made, Tom placed one more kiss on the still trembling lips beneath him. In the end, Harry was just one drug he would have to do without. His magic wrapped around Harry as he prepared the incantation in his mind. It was time for that Boy-Who-Lived to die. The curse sat on his lips for a moment before Tom reminded himself not to drag it out any longer than necessary. Harry's death would be quick, before Tom could change his mind about keeping Harry._

"_I know I'll be immortal. I don't care." Harry's soft voice stopped him. "You want to kill me to make sure I never become your equal, and that's all fine and good, but couldn't you do it the right way?" Tom stared down at Harry for a moment._

"_And what, pray tell, is the right way?" Did Harry want to be tortured to death?_

"_A duel. Bring your Deatheaters together and we'll do this the right way. Let's see who's really stronger." And Tom agreed, if just for a chance to feel Harry's magic for a few more blissful hours. Another moment passed before Tom stood from his place on top of Harry and straightened his robes. With that done, the Dark Lord did something that he had never done before: offered help to another living creature. He offered Harry a hand. With a blink of surprise and a warm smile, Harry took the presented hand and was pulled off of the bed and to his feet, just in front of Tom. The urge to take him back to the bed and not rise again entered Tom's mind, but he brushed it away. He would not give into temptation again. He couldn't. If he did, he would never let go. _

"I get it already. Now let me go. This has to happen eventually, right?" Harry soft voice broke through Tom's reverie.

"Yes, it does. And there's no time like the present, is there?" Tom pushed his own two cents into the conversation, ignoring the annoyed look he received from Black. He had been waiting for this duel for quite a while now, even more so after Harry's spectacular show of disciplining Bellatrix, and no one was going to mess it up.

"Sure isn't, but there is a place other than here." Harry wanted to take the fight elsewhere. With a smirk, Tom conceded.

"Where would you like to go?" It was going to be Harry's final battle, so it made sense that Harry should get to choose.

"An open area preferably. Perhaps we could go to a field?" The suggestion was taken into account, and Tom nodded. He easily expanded his magic over everyone, transporting them to a large field in Scotland. Immediately, his Deatheaters expanded into a large circle, sixty feet from every angle around Tom and Harry. Never one to sit back and wait, Tom immediately attacked.

"_Confringo_!" The blasting curse was dodged by a summersault to the left quickly followed by a quiet hex which, judging by the streak of violet flames speeding towards him, looked a lot like a one of Dolohov's favorite curses. Tom moved out of the way by simply leaning slightly to the right and pushing his left shoulder backwards. He didn't particularly feel like having his internal organs damaged beyond repair. "_Diffindo_." Tom whispered the spell, watching it soar in Harry's direction with amusement, not letting onto the fact that he was simultaneously, silently, casting an entrails-expelling curse and _Expulso. _Harry danced around the dangerous curses with unbounded grace, making sure to keep his distance yet still obviously creeping closer. Well, it was obvious to the Dark Lord. Then again, he did have fifty years on the boy. They both stood still for a moment as a portion of the ground shattered being Harry. Tom was giving him a chance to attack, but the younger male wasn't taking it. That was fine. If he wasn't in the mood to battle it out just yet, he soon would be. A Fiendfyre curse would make sure of that.

In an instant, an enormous serpent made of fire and flames shot from Tom's wand. It wasn't controllable. It wasn't safe. It was exactly what Tom was looking for. The elemental beast flew towards the Boy-Who-Lived swiftly, making a twisting turn in midair to follow the young man as he hurried out of its way.

"_Aguamenti!_" A jet of water shot from Harry's wand and met the beast head on. The flames were put out inches from the man's face. "_Erecto! Relashio! Waddiwasi!_" A large wall of stone emerged from the ground behind Tom at an alarming rate as fiery sparks shot from his wand, forcing Tom to relinquish his grasp on it. Small stones and clumps of dirt lifted from the ground and flew at Tom immediately after, but Harry didn't appear to be finished. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" Tom knew that he couldn't dodge everything, and even less so with the newly made wall behind him, and so did Harry. Harry also knew that Tom had little to no trouble doing magic without his wand, but after too much time it would hinder him. The simple spells would do nothing alone, but together, against the right opponent, they could be deadly. Too bad Tom wasn't the right opponent.

"_Impedimenta_." Everything started to falter, stopping and falling and altogether losing its effectiveness. Tom let his purely dark, unrestrained magic move to stop the body-bind curse. If that was how Harry wanted to play it, then that was how it would be done. "_Avis! Incendio! Incarcerous!_" The flaming birds sped towards Harry, Tom's own binding curse along with it. The difference was that if Harry dodged it wouldn't hit a wall. It would hit people. The kindness of the wall behind him didn't escape Tom; the fact that it wasn't only there to keep him in, but to keep everyone else out. Harry's only choices were to get hit or to let others get hit. It was obvious which one he would choose.

Surprisingly, Harry dodged, wand barely waving over the birds as he hit the ground and rolled out of the way. The young man's lips didn't move, but Tom saw as soon as the now disintegrating birds hit his followers that a flame-freezing charm had been cast. The only effect had been a few laughs and Parkinson dropping to the ground in ropes. Harry moved to point his wand but a silent _Expelliarmus_ ruined that for him. Play time was over.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

The shift in atmosphere was almost tangible and Harry knew that his simple hexes and spells weren't going to cut it anymore. Tom was no longer willing to humor him. "_Frigidus Letalis_." Harry whispered the spell with determined eyes, watching Tom all the while. He wasn't to be trusted. The elder male dodged with ease and the green-eyed boy chanced a few steps forward. Tom had noticed it when he had tried to be stealthy, so he ditched that and just tried to get closer. He had to get closer. Silent spells, _violent_ spells, were cast at Harry one after another, giving him absolutely no time to retaliate. He only had time to dodge, to move closer.

Harry knew for a fact that Tom was older. A spell whizzed past his ear. Faster. A hex nicked his arm. Stronger. The ground exploded beneath him, forcing him to leap over to solid ground, farther away from his goal. Smarter. Harry used his magic to block a hex that he hadn't thought existed. Far more experienced. Fire singed his hair. And all around better at everything. Harry also knew that all of those things gave him the upper hand. Because Tom was so much faster. Harry moved forward with speed he hadn't known he possessed. Because Tom was so much stronger. A one-handed flip landed Harry in front of Tom's forcefully discarded wand. Because Tom was so much smarter. He slipped the piece of wood up the sleeve of his robe in one slick move. Because Tom was so much better, Harry could win. Just this once. Tom knew that Harry was an amateur compared to him, so he would be underestimated. A single shot was all Harry would be given, as Tom was sure to only make the mistake once. If Harry screwed this up, it was all over. Tom would know he needed to watch out. Harry would be done for. So he took the shot.

There was no incantation. No words went with the magic, but he knew that the Dark Lord could sense it coming. With all of the strength he had, all of the magic he owned, Harry pushed his magic into a ball around the Dark Lord and squeezed. Physically, it did nothing to the man. Magically, it worked the same as when he had done it to Bellatrix. Well, almost the same. He just had to use a lot more – all – of his magic, and Tom's magic wasn't cut off, merely detained. To cut someone off from his or her magical core you had to be more magically inclined, and that, Harry was not. But he could stop Tom from attacking. Swiftly, Harry slammed his foot into Tom's chest as hard as he could. Still shocked from the prior attack which had happened a split second earlier, the Dark Lord fell. Before Tom could hit the ground Harry had his foot back on the elder male's chest, pinning him down while simultaneously pointing the Dark Lord's wand at said Dark Lord. Dark magic struggled to break free of pure, but Harry forced it down. But he wouldn't be able to hold it down long. The Boy-Who-Lived stared down into dangerous crimson orbs, the victor.

"_Well?_" Tom was waiting for the final blow. Harry wasn't one to disappoint. In one swift motion he stuffed the wand into the waistband of his pants under his robes and moved his foot from Tom's chest over to the spot beside Tom's other leg, parallel to Harry's other foot. Then he put his hand out to Tom, offering help up just as the other man had those few short hours ago. No one spoke. No one moved. Tom stared up at him. Harry stared back, a small smile on his features. He released the Dark Lord's magic. This was the final blow. Either they would put the feud behind them and work toward what they both knew was a better future or Tom would kill him. Either way it would end the battle, at least between them, and it would happen _now_.

The next few moments took an eternity to pass before; finally, Tom reached up and latched his hand around Harry's wrist. Smile turning into a grin, Harry returned the favor and pulled. Though his yank didn't do much considering Tom was monumentally larger than him, the Dark Lord got the hint and, using Harry as a sort of base, pulled himself up. That move put Tom almost as close to Harry as when they were kissing; Harry pressed flush against Tom's chest with barely enough room to breathe. Harry released his hold on Tom's wrist. Tom didn't do the same. If anything, he pulled Harry closer. Knowing he had absolutely no chance of winning in a physical match up, Harry just allowed his grin to turn into a slightly wary smile.

"Truce?" Could Harry finally have a side? A slow smirk made its way to Tom's face. Harry wasn't sure he felt very comfortable around that smirk, not on the Dark Lord, anyways.

"Truce." And then the taller man slammed their lips together once more. Gasps echoed throughout the crowd, but Harry barely heard them, his eyes sliding closed against his will. Tom's lips curled into a smirk against his own. It had only been a few hours since their last kiss, but it felt like years. Harry hadn't even realized how much he had craved the touch until he was on the receiving end of it once more. Their tongues didn't interact, but the possessive nature of the kiss was enough. Tom was claiming him. In front of everyone. And it felt good. Harry's eyes snapped open before narrowing. With his free arm, he shoved the man backwards. It was barely effective, only enough to get Tom to stop kissing him, and Harry was fairly sure that was only because Tom was allowing himself to be pushed back.

"How many times have I told you that I don't belong to you?" The smirk didn't leave Tom's face.

"How many times have I told you that we aren't equals?" The frown didn't leave Harry's face.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts." Harry didn't care how childish he sounded. "Classes to get to, homework to make excuses for, you know…" Again, he tried to yank his arm back into his possession. Again, he failed.

"Dismissed." The word wasn't directed at Harry though. As the loud cracks of apparition sounded throughout the area, Harry growled.

"Let go of me, Voldemort." Harry's voice was stern. The smirk that made Harry wary turned into a grin, and the emerald-eyed boy suddenly wished to have the smirk back.

"We've been over this before, Harry. _Call me Tom_." Surely those words shouldn't make Harry want to lean up and steal more than a simple kiss from the man. They shouldn't by any means. So why did they?

"Okay, _Tom_, I have something I really need to tell you." Dazzling rubies got closer and Harry could smell nothing but the musky scent that was Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Yes, _Harry_?" No one should be able to make a simple word sound _that_ suggestive, especially not Harry's name.

"Bye!" Harry was barely able to get the farewell past the lump in his throat before he forced his magic to swirl around him and take him back to Hogwarts. The last thing that the younger male saw before disappearing was an almost, dare he say it, _predatory_ glint in crimson orbs. Somehow, even in the comfort of his own bed, Harry didn't feel any safer. The look had sent a message, and though he tried to ignore it, Harry knew inside that he had received the message loud and clear: The hunt was on. And Harry was the prey.

**(***Lucius Malfoy***)**

Lucius sat calmly in the meeting room in his home, leaning back in the thrown usually reserved for the Dark Lord. Severus was still against the wall, the room was still empty, but the burning in his arm was no longer present. The meeting was over. That mean Draco would soon find the letter and be arriving. Lucius estimated that he had a few hours before being found. Draco had never been the best thinker under pressure. That in mind, it was an understandable surprise when Draco burst through the overly large double doors of the room. Lucius, of course, didn't show this shock, but it was still there.

"Release him." The anger was clear in his son's face, and Lucius wondered for a moment if this was Draco's Gryffindor side. He dismissed the idea immediately afterwards as no Malfoy had even an ounce of Gryffindor in him.

"Insolent brat. Have you forgotten your place already?" The words were smug laced with light irritation. Nothing could bring him down.

"No. Have you forgotten _yours_? Voldemort is the Dark Lord for a reason, Father. He can tromp anyone without so much as batting an eyelash while you cannot." Lucius could tell that Draco wanted to yell at him, to scream profanities at the top of his lungs, and nearly congratulated his son on controlling himself so well. If it weren't for the fact that his son was currently in the process of defying him, Lucius may have done just that, with a proper punishment for allowing the elder man to see that he was restraining himself in the first place.

"I can do more than you can imagine." And, to prove his point, Lucius raised his wand and pointed it toward his son, a curse waiting on the tip of his tongue.

"I can imagine you doing a lot of things: torturing muggles, selling your soul for our fortune to be doubled, hell, I can even say that I was barely shocked that you kidnapped my lover!" There was conviction in his voice as he continued. "What I can't fathom is you being a father who gave a damn about his son." At that, Lucius bristled.

"I've done more for you than you'd care to realize, brat!" He had done so much for Draco. "I gave you everything you wanted! I gave you the best things life could offer, even allowed you to disgrace our household with a male lover who could never produce an heir! I was the best father you could have asked for!" A flick of his wand sent Draco flying against the wall, Lucius too angry to care about Severus's glaring eyes and condemning words. He had no sway over Lucius. It was his world now.

"No." Heavy coughing followed the word. "No, you weren't the best father I could have asked for. I could have asked for one that cared about whether I was happy, not about whether I was the best in my class. I could have asked for a man who could back up his words with talent instead of money. I could have asked for someone who was actually worth something." Draco lifted his eyes with a defiant glint in them. "I could have asked for Lupin." The mentioned name had the elder Malfoy's blood boiling. Out of the Marauders, the werewolf had always been his worst enemy, beating him in everything from academics to dueling. He had hated the creature like nothing else. He still did.

"_Sectumsempra!_" Lucius let the curse that he had heard so long ago slip from his lips without thought. His son would learn one way or the other.

**(***Severus Snape***)**

Severus was a calm man who never took action without wholly thinking the entire situation through first. Except for when Draco got involved. If the young blonde was in the equation than all of Severus's hard thought habits flew out the window. Usually, he hated that. This was no different. He didn't want to feel his insides twist as the hex which he had created flew towards his lover. It was meant to harm, to kill even, but not Draco. Nothing he ever did was meant to cause Draco any discomfort. Yet there it was: Severus's most violent hex hurtling toward Draco. In a last ditch effort to pretend it wasn't happening, Severus closed his eyes. He still heard the scream of agony, still heard the body slam into the wall and then fall to the floor. He still imagined it all behind closed lids. It was then that he remembered Lily's last words to him before she got together with Potter.

"_I could never be with you because you said you would never leave me." Severus blinked back the tears of disbelief._

"_And I didn't! I didn't leave you!" Why was she choosing that mongrel over him? It made no sense!_

"_No, Severus, you didn't leave me, but you closed your eyes when I needed you the most. You may as well have not been there at all." And then she turned and walked away. Lily had nothing more to say._

Charcoal black orbs snapped open. Not again. He wouldn't lose the love of his life again. Draco lay bleeding on the floor, a large cut across his chest. It would probably scar, if the boy survived at all. Anger mixed with fear like the most potent of potions. He couldn't lose Draco. He couldn't save Draco. What could he do?

"We are family, Draco. You should know better than to challenge that." Something snapped inside of the Potions Master. The man's son lay dying on the floor and all he could do was lecture? Without warning, Severus's magic swirled around him, begging to be used. It needn't have asked for long. No thought was given before the magic attacked the spell surrounding him, trying to break it and give Severus mobility once more. That point was never reached as Lucius waltzed over, holding Severus at wand-point. It was over.

**(***Remus Lupin***)**

Remus watched as Narcissa blew the door down with expert ease. She was a mother bear protecting her cub and he didn't plan on getting in her way unless absolutely necessary. A silent hex which knocked Lucius off of his feet, blood dripping out of unseen cuts told Remus that it wasn't necessary yet. She glanced over at the professor before rushing to her son. Remus took the liberty of walking over to Severus.

"_Finite Incantatem." _Remus let the spell slip from his lips without much haste. This wasn't his battle to fight. Instantaneously, Severus stood, a swish of his robes the only thank you given. Remus hadn't expected anything different.

"_Episkey, Episkey, Episkey!_" The minor healing spell slipping from Narcissa sounded more and more desperate each time, but Remus held himself back. He couldn't help them, not yet. This was what he had been dreading: the turning point. The family had to fight their own battles, even if it was taking place within the folds of blood which tied them together. As an onlooker, the only thing Remus could do was try to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

"_Excelsiosempra!_" Remus could honestly say he hadn't heard that curse in years, not since Severus had used it on James after a Quidditch match that the arrogant Seeker had won just a bit too easily. Lucius flew into the air, stopping only after hitting the ceiling, and Remus didn't even try to feel pity for the man. It had taken the Marauders ages to figure out that the counter spell was _Accio_, and there were four of them. The eldest Malfoy may have had his wand, but he was basically at the mercy of the Potions Master.

"_Imperi_-" Severus stopped Lucius's curse with one of his own.

"_Crucio!_" An Unforgivable against an Unforgivable. Lucius didn't stand a chance. There had been a reason that Remus had always strayed from picking on the man. A scream erupted from once still lips, and Narcissa's insistent muttering of the healing spell could barely be heard over it. Looking at the blood still flowing from open wounds, it wasn't working very well. With a sad frown, Remus walked over to her and took her by the shoulders, nearly blank grey eyes staring up at him from her lap. Tears dripped down Draco's face, though not from his eyes. Narcissa was crying. It was with a soft motion that Remus pulled her into him, forcing her to cry into his shoulder.

"Severus." Remus barely heard himself speak, but deep, black eyes clearly said the name had been spoken more than in his mind. "Let Narcissa take over, and take care of Draco instead, would you?" He was the Potions Master. He had to have _something_ up his sleeve. Remus begged whatever entity existed to let the man have something up his sleeve. Quietly, the _Cruciatus_ was dropped, and Severus made his way over, eyes focused on the blonde boy who was dragging in every breath as slowly and unsurely as death. Gently, the older man's hands slipped under Draco's shoulders and hooked beneathe the back of Draco's knees. Before he could be lifted, Narcissa jerked around.

"Not my boy! Not _Draco_!" Her voice shook with pain untold. "Please, not Draco. Anyone else. _Please_." Her arms gripped Severus's biceps, trembling all the while. Remus glanced past them to see Lucius regaining his breath. This needed to be hurried along. Severus paused or a moment, a moment he didn't have. Draco didn't have any more time to spare.

"Trust me." It was a command. It was a plea. It was a life. Tears were rolling quietly down pale cheeks like the softest of waterfalls, and Narcissa gave in without another word. Draco was rushed out the door a moment later, most likely to find a sturdy fireplace to Floo through. With a resolution in her eyes that looked just as dangerous as anything the Dark Lord could conjure up, Narcissa stood and walked towards her husband. Almost pleading grey eyes turned to Remus from the ceiling, expressing their cowardice thoughts. But Remus didn't move to help. This wasn't his battle. He did; however, stay and watch.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

Draco could have laughed at his predicament if it didn't hurt so much. There he was being cradled like the most precious of porcelain dolls in the arms of the man he only recently figured out that he loved. The reciprocated emotion was obvious in Severus's eyes, making the young Malfoy wonder how he had missed it before. Perhaps he just hadn't been looking? Silver eyes closed against their master's will as Draco felt the familiar sensation of Flooing overcome him. He was so tired.

"Don't close your eyes, you insolent child. If you fall asleep there's no guarantee you'll wake up again." Severus's voice snapped at Draco, but the Seventh year barely heard the older man's harsh words. He certainly didn't process what they meant.

"Gess wh't." His mouth was dry, tongue sitting heavily in his mouth and slurring his speech. It was so hard to speak. Warm air hit Draco's neck as he felt himself being repositioned, half on a hard, flat surface which Draco assumed was the floor and half on the Potion Master's lap, head being held up by a warm hand.

"What?" The tone was less harsh now than it was in the last batch of words, and Draco took that as a good sign, though he couldn't quite remember what it was that Severus had said either time. The sound of a bottle being uncorked met Draco's ears, and he silently wondered why Severus was still working when it was clearly time for bed.

"Love you." Draco wasn't really sure whether the words left his mind or not, but the grip which his longtime lover held on him tightened ever so slightly.

"_Stupid boy_." Draco wasn't sure what the words meant as they jumbled before meeting his ears, but they didn't sound bad. If anything, they sounded slightly choked, as if Severus was having a hard time saying them. A moment later, warm lips connected with Draco's, and a strange liquid poured into his mouth. Draco didn't have the strength to fight it, merely trying his best to swallow instead.

If people were to walk into the potions lab in the deepest depths of Hogwarts's dungeons at that moment, they would see the hard-hearted Potions Master kneeling on the dusty stone floors, tears cascading down his cheeks. They would see a Deatheater giving the kiss of life to his most precious person just a moment too late.

**(***Bellatrix Lestrange***)**

Bellatrix stared up at Rodolphus from her place on the floor, her cousin standing beside of him looking unsure about the pain which he had been putting her through.

"Um, Rudy, are you sure it's alright to-" But those aristocratic brown eyes only spared Sirius Black a glance before focusing lazily on her once more. This was her punishment for running away, as if being a bloody _muggle_ wasn't enough!

"It's perfectly fine, Sirius. She shouldn't have run." Another curse that Bellatrix didn't recognize hit her like a ton of Thestrals. Pain shot through her body, and she screamed, Rodolphus's disinterested eyes burning a hole in her skull all the while. He really was a near-perfect Pureblood. And she hated him for it. She wanted to kill him, and show her Lord that she was better. She wanted Rodolphus dead. Her wand groaned under the pressure she was putting on it as her hand gripped tighter, scream still ripping itself free of her throat only to be trapped forever in her mind.

"But Rudy-" This time, Bellatrix cut her cousin off her cousin with a laugh, a laugh that her scream was echoed in. Sirius looked over at her, obvious dislike, obvious concern shining in his eyes. She wanted him dead, too. She just stared back, a maniacal glint in her own.

"I'm sparing her life because you're here. Don't ask for more." Rodolphus was always composed. Rodolphus was always correct. Rodolphus was always what she needed to be more like. But as he pointed his wand at her once more, all protests of her cousin silenced, she didn't want to listen. She didn't want Rodolphus to be better at anything. She just wanted to hear him scream. That was all she wanted: to hear him scream before watching the life drain out of his near-perfect-Pureblood eyes. And then she could.

The power which she had given and the power which she had received suddenly multiplied, alerting her of Lucius Malfoy's death. Considering that she didn't kiss the man again, it was the only answer. He must have made Snape make the potion, drunken it, and gotten killed. The high-pitched laugh got higher, lost more sanity. She didn't care. Rodolphus could take on plenty of separate power sources and get away without a scratch, but with her and Lucius's – A Black's and a Malfoy's – magic combined into one entity there was no way that he could defeat her. Not in a battle of the wills. Yet the stark hilarity of her situation wasn't lost on Rodolphus. Bellatrix wasn't out of touch with reality enough to believe that it was. But that didn't matter. The power was hers, and her wish was about to be fulfilled. She was going to kill Rodolphus.

**(***Sirius Black***)**

Sirius felt her power flare, feeling far different, far more dangerous, than before. Storm grey eyes widened, barely processing Bellatrix raising her wand against Rodolphus. As an Auror, he knew that he needed to stop her. As a friend, he knew that stopping her in the middle of an incantation could seriously harm Rodolphus. Unfortunately, his friend-side won out over his Auror training at just the wrong moment. He didn't throw a hex to stop her. Luckily, Rodolphus had no such qualms. The two incantations met in the middle, forest green and sunset blue streams of magic fighting for dominance. Sirius's eyes widened as the green began to win out, as Bellatrix's new mix of magic began to overpower Rodolphus's. Never before had it been remotely possible in Sirius's mind for Bellatrix to beat Rodolphus. And really, it wasn't Bellatrix who would beat him, not her magic alone. She could never do it alone. It was only the mix of two powerful, ancient pureblood families coming together that was beating out Rodolphus. Pure bloods mixing was more than a boost of power for the child, it was a whole new world. In this case, Bellatrix was the child. Another spark and the green pressed harder against the blue, causing a deep-throated growl to pry itself from Rodolphus's throat. He wasn't happy.

Rodolphus Lestrange. The man's deep brown orbs glared at Bellatrix as she began to stand. Sirius Black. Again, the green magic pressed against blue, forcing Rodolphus back a step. Black and Lestrange: two dark, Pureblood sources of magic. Suddenly, Sirius remembered their kiss. It was everything dark that he had known existed being brought to the surface, mingling with the rest of the world; untapped Black magic. Lestrange magic was far more powerful than Malfoy, that much Sirius knew, and Bellatrix was from a branch family of the Black Household, so Sirius knew his magic was stronger than hers. It was the solution they needed; the only solution they had. Not giving himself time to back out, Sirius grabbed ahold of Rodolphus's collar, waited just enough time for the man to turn towards him, and crushed their lips together.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_**Author's Note:**__ I'm about to publish my first book! _

_**Disclaimer:**__ For the zillionth time, no!_

_**Warning:**__ Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)_

**(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)**

Rodolphus, for a split second, didn't know what was going on. And then he realized what Sirius was doing, and quickly complied. Keeping his focus on the wand and curse flowing from him was hard, but Rodolphus managed, at the same time delving into Sirius's magic. The dark, formerly untouched Black magic flowed over him like a waterfall of power. That power didn't go to waste. His curse flared from the new boost of energy, overpowering Bellatrix's with ease. Now, on a normal day, Rodolphus would have just blew her away and taken her to the Dark Lord so that he could deal with her. This was no normal day. This day, Sirius's lips were pressed against his own in a chaste yet extremely passionate kiss, and not even the Dark Lord himself could stop Rodolphus from issuing the killing curse. As soon as she dropped, Sirius jerked away, but Rodolphus jerked him back.

"Rudy!" The word was a muffled plea against Rodolphus's lips, but the brown eyed pureblood wasn't about to listen. He had been waiting for this for nearly two decades now. Nothing Sirius could say or do would stop him. Moments later when Rodolphus slammed Sirius against the wall, clothes already dropping like flies, he realized that protesting was the last thing on Sirius's mind.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry looked at Draco's motionless form with saddened eyes. Whatever Snape had done it had saved Draco's life, but not in the way that the teacher had obviously planned. Truthfully, Harry had been shocked to be called down to the potions room, but seeing this, it all made sense. Snape had used his potion to stop the young Malfoy from dying, but he had done it too late. Only the body was saved. As green stared empathetically down at blank grey, he knew that Draco's soul was long gone.

"How did this happen?" What would make Snape so desperate as to use his potion?

"Lucius bated him into coming to rescue me, and he didn't stand a chance. Draco is only a boy." A full minute after that statement, deep, near black orbs ripped themselves from Draco and moved to Harry. "Potter, I know that I've never given you a reason to help me, and if I were in your position then I would turn and walk away, but I'm begging you. _Please_ help him." If someone had told, well, anyone that one day Severus Snape would be down on his knees, pleading for Harry Potter's help, he or she would be sent to St. Mungos right next to Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. Yet here they were. "I know you can." Harry blinked at that. He could, but it would risk his life in the process and there was a possibility that too much time had passed. There were so many unknown variables that the idea could be labeled as nothing more than stupid.

"No," An almost heartbroken expression slipped onto Snape's face before it was covered, "you wouldn't leave me if you had the chance. So, neither will I. Stay here." Harry rushed over to the hidden compartment in the stone wall, opening it to reveal Snape's secret stash of potion ingredients. Dark irises questioned Harry's knowledge of the compartment, but tight lips never moved to ask. A small piece of yarn was found at the very back, black and grey and white pieces of string twisted together for two inches only. Harry never thought that he would have to use it, especially not when he put it there so many years ago. With slow movements to make sure he got it right, Harry untwisted the string half an inch. For two people who truly loved each other, he had to.

Pressing his forefinger and thumb together around the still connected end of the strings, Harry watched as the three strings of the unwound end grew longer than he was, encasing him in an ovular cage. Moments later a semi-transparent force field connected the pieces of string, and Harry's soul was released from his body. Already, the white string was beginning to burn, showing that his time was running out. Quickly he looked around, tracing Draco's magical signature out and away, through the walls and ceiling, out to the Quidditch pitch.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" The blonde didn't sound sad, just slightly solemn.

"Not quite. Snape saved you, but if you don't get back you may as well be." Draco glanced over to Harry, eyes dull without the emotions which life had provided for him. He was clearly beginning to fade away, into the Nether Realm.

"Are you dead, too?" The spirit completely ignored Harry's earlier statement.

"No, but that won't last long either. Look at me, Draco. You have to go back. Snape needs you." Flickering grey orbs focus solely on Harry.

"Who's Snape?" His memory was vanishing with his spirit, telling Harry that he needed to hurry.

"Severus. Your lover. You need to get back to him." Slowly, Draco's feet started to vanish beneath him, disintegrating into nothing with ease.

"I need to catch the snitch." His memory was fading fast, the most important things first. Harry held out his hand as a peace offering, feeling the first piece of sting cease to exist beside of his body, the only thing stopping his heart from failing and him from passing on.

"Come with me and you'll be able to catch it." Harry's words only seemed to confuse Draco.

"Catch what?" As Draco faded up to the knees, Harry stopped being nice and simply grabbed onto his arm. They had to hurry.

"This way." Then he began to fly, dragging Draco along with him. As soon as they reached the dungeons, Harry saw the grey string disappear. In just sixty seconds, the black one would follow. A Draco existed from only the waist up, Harry brought him towards his body.

"Who's that?" Harry wasn't sure whether Draco was speaking about the blonde's own body or Snape, and he didn't care.

"Touch your hand." There had to be contact.

"My hand?" The unsure touch in the young Malfoy's tone left Harry frowning. Nothing but arrogance belonged in Draco's voice.

"Touch the blonde's hand. Please." There was less than half of the black string left. Ever so slowly, the blonde reached out, hand tentatively moving towards its counterpart. Without warning, before his time ran out, he was forced back into his body. Harry took in a gulp of air, wondering why this had happened. Two slim fingers were the response. Hermione had stopped the final string from burning out. She gave him a smile in return for his surprised stare. Another gasp resounded throughout the room as Draco awoke from what could have been an eternal slumber had Harry waited any longer to retrieve him.

"Severus?" But Snape didn't answer as Harry looked over, simply hugged a confused Draco to his chest.

"Thank you." Those two soft words were all Harry needed before he threaded his and Hermione's hands together and walked out of the room. Blaise met them on the other side. Dark brown orbs traveled from Hermione to Harry to their intertwined fingers.

"May I cut in?" Blaise sounded polite, but Harry could hear the threat in his voice. With a grin, he stepped away from Hermione, slipping both of his hands into his pockets.

"You may." The only female in the group giggled at Harry's releasing words before slipping her arm into the crook of Blaise's offered arm. A quick wave was all that the Savior of the Wizarding World got before the Slytherin swept his best friend off her feet and walked away. Harry gave them a few seconds, at most, before their relationship became official.

"What are you doing down here?" Ron's voice almost made Harry flinch, but he repressed the urge and turned to face the redhead.

"Snape wanted to see me about my potion." A spark of hatred lit Ron's eyes for a moment, but it seemed different from the usual spite from hearing Snape's name. Harry shook it off as his imagination. In strange times like this, he was bound to have a slip-up or two.

**(***Ronald Weasley***)**

Ron couldn't stand the warmth in Harry's eyes. They needed to be as blank as Ginny's. He needed to die.

"I see." What else was he supposed to say? "Sorry about earlier." A lie or two would help in the end. "You want to go for a quick fly around the pitch? You know, for old times' sake?" If there was one thing that Ron knew for sure, it was that Harry could never pass up a chance to fly. A warm smile lit the savior's that almost made Ron regret his treachery. Almost. His sister was far more important than this fake.

"Sure. Just let me get my-" Ron cut Harry off, knowing that he couldn't allow Harry to go anywhere but the pitch if he wanted to save Ginny.

"No!" At the strange look green eyes were giving him, Ron quickly covered his tracks. "I mean, we could just use some of the school's brooms. It's almost time to eat anyways, and Gryffindor Tower is a long way away." Fortunately, his once best friend seemed to buy the excuse and nodded. Ron held back the urge to sigh. His only job was to get Harry to the Quidditch pitch, to Dumbledore, and he had almost blew it.

**(***Draco Malfoy***)**

"Mother." Draco was confused as to why Narcissa was in the Potions Lab, and with Remus Lupin, no less. She, in a very un-Malfoy-like manner, rushed towards Draco, sweeping him from Severus's arms as a response. The young Malfoy hesitated. "Mother?" Was she under some type of hex? And where was his father? Draco had went against him in hopes of saving Severus, but he remembered very little about their meeting, and none of this was helping.

"It's good to see that Severus was able to help you after all." Grey eyes looked up from Narcissa to Remus to Severus. The man slowly stood from his chair, which he had pulled Draco into as well moments after the blonde's awakening, and shook his head.

"I prolonged his death. Your Godson is the one who saved him." For a second, Draco could honestly admit to himself that he was completely and totally confused. After that, he was sure that he knew exactly what was going on, it was only a little fuzzy. All he needed was some clarification.

"Potter? And since when was I dying?" Patience had never been one of Draco's virtues.

"Lucius nearly killed you in his quest for power, Draco." Grey eyes widened, darting back to his mother. The silent question wasn't missed. "He got what he deserved." Surprisingly, the hit of losing his father wasn't monumental. He had a lover. He had a mother. He had…

"Professor Lupin?" Draco didn't look up to meet amber orbs as he spoke. "What are your intentions?" There was a spark between the werewolf and his mother that Draco hadn't seen between his biological parents in many years. He needed to know how far that spark was going to go.

"My intentions?" No one answered the obviously rhetorical question as Lupin hummed. "I'm not quite sure. I would enjoy taking you and your mother out to dinner one of these days, if you wouldn't mind, but that's about as far as I've gotten. Sirius taught me long ago that, when it comes to the most important things in life, the best plan is no plan at all." A moment passed before Draco finally looked up. Amber orbs shone with sincerity.

"Would you mind if Severus joined us?" Draco had more than most people did, but he had to make sure it was a stable foundation.

"Of course I wouldn't." The warm smile on the ex-teacher's face gave Draco a sort of reassurance that his father never could have, and the grin which spread across the eighteen-year-old's face was unstoppable.

"Then I have no choice but to tell you how famished almost dying apparently makes you." His mother's arms tightened around him as Lupin let out a soft chuckle and Severus took a step forward. Everything was going to be fine.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

The Dark Lord had what some would call an anti-social personality disorder. In other words, he hated people. Harry Potter, however, did not count as a people. He couldn't because Tom very much liked Harry Potter. The boy had actually beaten him – which would never happen again since Tom would never underestimate Harry again – and then let him go. Tom would have killed him on the spot. Truly, Harry Potter was Tom Marvolo Riddle's opposite in every way.

Where Tom was cruel, Harry was kind. Where Harry preferred a peace treaty, Tom preferred a brutal Massacre. Where Tom was strong, Harry was weak. Physically, that was. Then again, Harry's physical attributes were what drew Tom to him in the first place. The lithe, lightly toned body which was always twisting just out of his grasp, teasing in its beautiful intensity was always haunting Tom when he closed his eyes, but that wouldn't be so for long. Soon, Harry's naked form wouldn't just be a figment of Tom's imagination, but a reality, sweating and pleading for release beneath him. Forever. The more Tom thought about it, the more Tom warmed to Harry becoming immortal. The young man was undeniably loyal to his circle of friends, which Tom seemed quite close to entering, proving that he wouldn't be betrayed at any point in time. In fact, he was close to surpassing that circle. Harry, whether he would admit it or not, belonged to Tom. It just wasn't the way he had meant it at first. There was complete and total ownership, but Harry had a say in things. His dueling proved that.

A small frown curled on perfect lips as Tom thought about having an equal, but there was really no other way around it. Magically, they were going to be equals. Mentally, Harry could be trained. Physically—the frown turned to a smirk – Harry would never quite measure up to Tom, but that was alright. They didn't need to match. Tom was the dominant one in this relationship. Still, the hunt was on, and the Dark Lord had never been one to keep his prey waiting, especially when his prize was sure to be an extremely satisfying roll in the hay with the Savior of the Wizarding World. With Harry on his side, the Ministry would surrender, and his only threat would be Dumbledore, but the old fool was slipping. He would be easy to defeat given the correct circumstances. The way that Tom was progressing, nothing would be able to stop him.

By normal standards, it was time for dinner. By Tom's standards, it was time to hunt. Finally, the smirk twisted into a devilishly wicked grin. He had to catch his meal first. With a flourish in his step, the immortal man stood and downed the rest of his wine. Tonight was going to be fun.

"You really should hurry, you know." Crimson orbs trailed over to Jackary Salem. A bored brow cocked at the sight. He hadn't seen the demon in years.

"And why, pray tell, might that be?" Lips turned downwards slightly at the 'pray tell' part of Tom's question. Jackary never had been very amused with Tom's jokes.

"The green-eyed mortal is about to die." No clarification on who the demonic man was speaking of was needed. A snarl rushed onto Tom's face. He leaves the boy alone for _five seconds_ and he's already in a life-or-death situation. _Again_. "It's Albus." Hands curled into fists at the sides of the Dark Lord, but he didn't run to save his soon to be lover. Jackary Salem was a high level demon, and they didn't do things for free.

"What do you want?" What was the catch? Finally, a smirk slipped onto normally still lips.

"In your new world order, leave Adrian Nathaniel Linkhouse alone. Fighting you to be sure of his safety is an option, but he doesn't enjoy bloodshed quite as much as you or I." Tom could hardly believe that all he had to do was promise the safety of a single boy. "His soul already belongs to me, I just want to keep his body well while it exists." But that didn't answer Tom's question.

"How is that an equal exchange?" Tom got the better end of the deal by far.

"I gave you what you need to make your loved one happy. You're going to give me what I need to do the same." Crimson never wavered as Tom stared the demon down. He had summoned Jackary so long ago that the man – if you could call him that – had almost slipped from his memory, but there he was.

"I don't love him." It was lust, plain and simple. Fire licked at the Salem's feet, signaling that he was about to depart.

"Don't you?" But Jackary was gone before Tom could attest that no, he did not, in fact, love Harry. In the long run that was probably a good thing. Tom wasn't so sure he would be able to deny it as vehemently as he wanted to.

**(***Albus Dumbledore***)**

Albus didn't bat an eyelash as he cast the killing curse on Ronald Weasley. The boy was a loose end, and he couldn't afford to leave any of those untied before beginning his new life. He would be Ash Faremount in just a few minutes, all thanks to Ronald Weasley. Well, Harry Potter played quite a role in the matter as well.

"Why?" Even if he didn't understand it just yet.

"You see, Harry, my boy, I can't afford to die. The world needs me too much, but I can't live on my own, either. My magic isn't pure enough to sustain my body." Albus waited for Harry to fill in the blanks. It didn't take long.

"You want mine." Such a simplistic response from such a simplistic boy.

"It's for the Greater Good. All you have to do is give me your permission and drink this." Old hands held up a small vile with sparkling violet liquid inside. Harry didn't jump at the prospect.

"I think I would rather not." Albus couldn't help but chuckle at the boys unease, simply waving his wand to the left to make Harry change his mind. "Joshua!" Panic that the Headmaster had never heard before surfaced in the young man's voice, and that was before the elder wizard held the small orphan at wand point.

"It's for the Greater Good." If nothing else, Harry had to understand that much. "Would you like a cup of tea?" The underlying question was obvious, but Albus wasn't about to let the little one know what was going on. He could be an important pawn in the future. Ever so slowly, Harry nodded, lowering the wand which he had pulled out the moment Albus had raised his at the same time.

"Wonderful." Another wave of his wand, just barely missing nicking Joshua's neck, and a cup of tea was floating in front of Albus.

"Harry?" Twinkling blue eyes looked down at the small child while one hand uncorked the vile, pouring every last drop of its contents into the tea. "Harry what's goin' on?" The slurred words brought a smile to Albus's face. "Why can't I move?" He sounded wary, but not scared. That was probably because Harry was there though.

"You'll be able to move in just a little bit, Joshua. I promise. Do you remember that girl I was telling you about?" Harry paused both to see Joshua nod and to stare at the tea. Albus smiled, loving it when a plan came together. "Be nice to her, okay?" That was all the young man said before downing the contents of the dainty cup and allowing it to crash to the ground. Albus paused for a second, holding back the spell which would begin the transfer of power.

"Would you like to hear a bit of irony?" Harry didn't respond. Joshua started to cry. Albus went on. "If you had stayed away just an hour longer then I wouldn't have gotten to you in time, and you would be immortal. Isn't that funny?" He wouldn't cut it so close next time. Harry just stared. The incantation was silent as Albus cast it, relishing the feel of the seams keeping Harry together flowing towards him.

"_Harry!_" Joshua's shout was accompanied by a powerful burst of magic; dark magic.

"What have I told you about touching my things, Albus? We went through this when I opened the Chamber of Secrets so long ago, didn't we?" Blue eyes, no longer twinkling, swiveled over to see Tom Marvolo Riddle in all of his glory. His voice was calm. His stance was calm. His magic was furious. Albus had to work not to take a step back.

"Tom, I wasn't expecting-" But the Dark Lord cut him off.

"It's Voldemort to you, Albus. Calling me Tom is a privilege that very few carry." Albus didn't move his wand from Joshua, knowing that it would do him little good.

"Get Joshua!" Harry, ever the self-sacrificing hero. Albus willed the magic to be transferred faster.

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Tom allowed a dark smirk to play on his lips. "What's the magic word?" He would save Harry, the small child, and kill Albus all at the same time. This was going to make his day.

"_Now_, Tom!" The chuckle that slipped past perfect lips at widening blue eyes reverberated throughout the pitch.

"Close enough." The killing curse had never before come so easily, but Albus was quick for an old fool, and skidded out of the line of fire, taking the young wizard with him.

"Harry! Harry, help!" The little voice pleaded for Harry's assistance, and Harry reacted accordingly, just as Albus wanted. The closer Harry was, the easier it would be to steal his magic.

"Harry, don't!" But it wasn't Tom who shouted the order. Crimson orbs trailed over to see Zabini and his Mudblood; Harry's Mudblood.

"Ah, Miss Granger." But that was as far as the old fool got before the frizzy haired girl pointed her wand at him. Tom smirked at the development.

"Don't you 'Miss Granger' me! Let Joshua go!" A disappointed sigh escaped wrinkled lips. Less wrinkled then just a slight bit ago. He was stalling.

"So you're for the dark side, too? And you showed such promise." Albus had the gall to shake his head.

"The only side I'm on is Harry's." Cute.

"Then you're on my side. Protect the child." Tom's words weren't overlooked. Albus was his. The old fool must have saw it as well as he tossed Joshua to the side and took three jumping strides towards Harry, placing his palm flat on the young man's chest a moment later. Blue strings flowed from Harry easily, and while he began to age, Albus began to get younger. Strangely, it wasn't a spell that stopped the quickened process, but a Quaffle.

"Sorry we're late. Traffic was brutal." The thick Scottish accent didn't escape Tom as he looked up, only partially surprised to see Cedric Diggory and Oliver Wood floating above them, brooms hovering at least twenty feet into the air.

"You're outnumbered, Albus." No matter how true the words were, the old fool didn't seem ready to back down, hair shortening and turning brown again, muscles becoming firm and strong once more. But Harry was perishing, at least fifty or sixty by now. Tom had to hurry.

"But none of you are for the Greater Good! That will be your downfall!" Tom raised his wand to kill Albus, knowing that the damage had already been done, before Harry grasped the man's arm, voice raspy with age, hands shaking with effort.

"You're right." Crimson orbs blinked. "They aren't fighting for the Greater Good, but as horrible as they are, even though some of them don't have a _single_ good bone in their bodies," Tom felt singled out for just a moment as Harry shot him a glance, "they did teach me something." Another twenty years flew from his body, forcing Harry to his knees, and Tom wanted to shout for him to get out of the way before he died.

"What might that be, my boy?" Albus, a mere twenty years old once more. Shining brown hair with empathetic blue eyes, none of it deserved.

"I _hate_ sharing." Time seemed to stop for just a moment as green and red connected, old hands tightening around young skin, and then everything sped up, backwards. The blue strings of magic flew faster than ever before, but from Albus instead of Harry. "It's my magic. It's my youth. It's none of your business." Tom loved the control Harry had, the dominance he was asserting. It made him want to pin the boy down and show him who was really in charge all that much more. Albus was back at his old age in no time, but the magic didn't stop. Harry didn't stop.

It went on until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes, and an exhausted Harry. With a determined look on his face, he shoved his hand at the ground, and Tom could see the magic which belonged to Albus shoot into the ground, making Harry pure yet again. As soon as all of it was gone, there was a change in the atmosphere. Tom poured magic into his vision to get a better view of what was going on. The fragile strings of magic sewing Harry together were tightening to an irremovable state. He was becoming immortal right in front of Tom's eyes, and he knew it.

"Harry?" Joshua ran over to the young immortal on the ground, wrapping his small arms around the boy's neck. "Harry, why'd the old man take me from the orph'nage?" Crimson orbs narrowed at the word orphanage, no matter how slurred it was. An orphaned wizard who was pulled out of hell by… By whom? "Why didn't you come? They hurt me, Harry! You said they wouldn't hurt me anymore!" By no one. Harry had went to school and left him there.

"They won't hurt you anymore. I'm not saying this time. I'm promising. You aren't going back." Harry sounded solemn as the little boy cried into his chest. His words only seemed to make theorphan angrier.

"How are you going to help? You get hurt all the time!" Small hands yanked at the edge of Harry's shirt, revealing the end of a scar. Tom didn't care how far away he was, how faded it was, or how quickly Harry pulled the cloth back down. Someone had been hurting Harry, a lot by the sound of it. The fury was back. Harry was right on the note of Tom's habit of not sharing. He didn't like people to _look_ at what was his. To hurt it was damnation.

"Not anymore. I'll find somewhere else for us to live. And you won't get hurt. And I won't get hurt. Alright?" Harry was gentle, making sure not to startle the young boy. Granger wasn't nearly as subtle.

"Why didn't you say anything?" She didn't give Harry a chance to respond. "Why didn't you stop them? I know we shouldn't use our magic to our advantage, but they're just muggles, Harry! You shouldn't have let them hurt you!" For once, he had to agree.

"You were all so busy with the war and your own problems that I didn't really think it mattered. I could always heal myself." Tom shot Zabini a look which was anything but misunderstood.

"Hermione, we need to go." Brown eyes gained a confused glint at that statement, but Harry caught on. Both he and the orphan disappeared without another word. Tom could have cursed, but he just wasn't sure who to aim it at: Harry for running again or himself for not seeing it coming _again_. He settled for cursing in general. This hunt was growing old.

**(***Harry Potter***)**

Harry watched Joshua's chest rise and fall lightly as purple sheets curled around him, gripped tightly in little fists.

"Keep your voice hushed. He's asleep." There was no need to turn around to see the large man standing behind him. His magic gave him away.

"It's no wonder I couldn't trace your magic back." Tom didn't sound happy, but his voice was kept low just as Harry had asked. Ordered.

"I figured that your house was the last place you would look for me, and I was right." The deep growl had a slightly husky tint, one that Harry tried desperately to ignore, still refusing to turn around. "Besides, there's nowhere else that I could ensure his safety on such a short notice." At least, Harry hoped that he was safe. There was a chance that Tom would find annoyance in the boy because it reminded him of his past, but there was a larger chance that he would be empathetic. Harry hoped.

"And how do you know he'll be safe?" Harry was sure that part of Tom's annoyance was that Joshua was asleep in the Dark Lord's bed. Not the best idea, but certainly not the worst.

"You didn't care whether a child died or not, but you never tortured one." Not once.

"I can change." The Boy-Who-Lived had to concentrate on what the Dark Lord was saying, unable to stop drowning in twin pools of crimson. It was unfair for any living being to have eyes that stunning.

"I doubt it," Harry continued as Tom raised his wand, looking incredibly serious, "but it's always possible. Would you like some coffee?" The quick change of subject wasn't missed, but Harry ignored the smug smirk as much as humanly possible and left the room before Tom could answer. It was the safest route. The kitchen was easy enough to find after a few moments of wandering, but Harry never got to making the coffee. Instead, he was shoved against the kitchen table, warm, agile hands climbing up Harry's shirt to feel his scars. Harry couldn't help the twist between a gasp and a moan which slipped up his throat.

"They'll die for touching you." It wasn't a suggestion. Harry arched his back as Tom's lips connected almost angrily with his neck. Without warning, the hands threaded themselves into Harry's shirt and went in opposite directions, ripping it in half. "They'll tear just as easily as this cloth, but not nearly as painlessly." The wandering hands slid down his sides and then back up again, eliciting a shutter from Harry's sensitive body. "Any objections?" Cloudy green eyes sparked when the hands came to a stop, pure magic whipping out at the world. Slowly, with as much control as he could muster, Harry shook his head in a negative motion. He had suffered through enough. He had resisted temptation enough. Now it was time to give in. Tom didn't want to kill him, the war was going to be small with few casualties, and the most amazing man in the history of history was standing behind him.

"Do what you want." There was a husky tint that Harry couldn't remember ever having entered his voice before, and Tom didn't waste time doing just that. A strong arm wrapped around Harry's waist before the younger immortal was lifted off of the ground and tossed through the air, landing safely on the bed of a room he had never been in only seconds later. As Tom's larger form crawled on top of him a moment later Harry could only assume that the man's magic had gotten them there.

"You should be careful what you wish for, Harry." Teeth bit sharply into the juncture of Harry's neck. "You just might get it." The pain was dulled by a skilled tongue twisting over the wound and a calloused hand gripped Harry's now hard member. When had that gotten there? A sharp gasp was all Harry had time to get out as the warm mouth left the wound and started down his chest. Slight hands fisted themselves in neat black locks. The Dark Lord's hand, which had previously been racing up and down Harry's length, left to push his pants and boxers down to his knees, magically banishing them from there. A low breath was drawn in on Tom's behalf as he stopped all of his ministrations; lifting his head.

"What?" Had he done something wrong? Harry didn't know how to do any of this. He didn't know how to make Tom want to keep going. "D-did I-?" Harry couldn't finish as Tom's mouth lowered to his left nipple, the bud rolling softly between the elder male's teeth.

"You're beautiful."

**(***Tom Riddle***)**

Harry was almost too much, writhing under him in such an enticing manner. Here Tom was, trying to take it slow for the boy's first time, and here Harry was, practically _trying_ to break his control. Not that it mattered. No one could have told Tom that scars – scars which filthy muggles inflicted – could ever look sexy and have him believe it, yet there it was. Every inch of Harry was more enticing than the last, taunting and teasing just by existing. Slowly, carefully, Tom traced each one of the scars, treading especially lightly over the fresher ones. Magic could only heal so much, after all.

Fury flashed through lust again. Harry was his. All his. No one could take that away. Tom just needed to claim ownership. Sliding his hands farther down to a scar that started at Harry's navel and twisted southward to Harry's upper thigh, Tom made his way to Harry's entrance. If ownership needed to be claimed then be claimed it would. With measured movements, Tom slid his fingers over the underside of Harry's weeping cock, collecting just enough pre-cum to wet his fingers. The gasping moan which Harry's throat allowed to escape accompanied a surge in pure magic that had Tom wanting to forgo preparation and free his own member from the confines of his pants, which seemed to grow tighter with every passing moment. Still, he didn't dare let himself go. Tom didn't trust himself enough for that. Instead, he circled Harry's puckered hole with a damp finger, intently watching dark pupils try to overthrow green irises with dark hunger. The first finger went in without a hitch. Well, there was a hitch in Harry's breath, but that was alright.

"Relax." Tom didn't wait for the boy to do so before shoving another digit in and beginning to scissor. "You're only making it hurt worse." Surprisingly, Harry did as he was told. Mostly. His lower body relaxed. His hands, however, only fisted tighter in Tom's hair. It was a pleasurable sort of pain, though nothing near what he was experiencing in his nether regions. Another minute with another finger was all Tom could take as Harry unconsciously shoved himself against Tom's fingers. All he needed was to find—

"_Tom!_" A smirk curled on hungry lips as Tom removed his fingers, earning a whimper of protest in response. Tom ignored it, instead focusing all of his energy on unbuttoning his pants without tearing them. Harry's clothes were much less valuable then his. Tom had to go out and face the world, fighting for dominance over all. Harry could just sit back – though Tom doubted he would – on Tom's bed and lay there all day, naked. Oh, if only. Green orbs widened as Tom's leaking erection sprung from its previous prison.

"See something you like?" Tom couldn't help the sultry taunt as a blush of embarrassment entered already heated cheeks.

"I-" Harry stopped after the single syllable, unable to tear his eyes away from Tom's bulging package. A moment more passed before the young immortal continued. "That won't fit." A dark chuckle escaped the Dark Lord as he roughly pulled Harry's legs over his shoulders. "I'm serious, Tom. There's no way that will-" But the elder wasn't about to listen and instead cut Harry off by aligning his cock to the savior's entrance, simultaneously pushing three of his fingers into Harry's mouth. The young man began to suck with little probing, confusion clear in his eyes. It took everything Tom had not to penetrate as Harry shifted uncomfortably, rubbing against Tom's cock with every movement. The sensation of his naturally talented tongue over slickened fingers didn't help either. Deciding that enough was enough, he yanked his fingers away and coated himself with the saliva.

"It will, Harry." He was sure that Harry didn't suspect the sudden penetration of his almost unnaturally large prick. They both gasped at the intense pleasure of it: Tom from Harry's tight heat engulfing him and Harry from Tom ramming into his prostate on the first go. He was barely able to get the next few words out. "Think of it like magic." Magic was something they could both relate to. Only waiting a couple of minutes for Harry to adjust, Tom pulled almost completely out before thrusting back in. The pace was set. Harry didn't complain at the fast thrusts, only moaned, rocking his hips back and forth in time with Tom.

"Oh my Merlin…" Harry trailed off and Tom understood. Their magic, though completely different, was melding together, if only for a single moment. At that point in time, they weren't filled with dark or light, weren't considered pure or tainted, just magic. Everything was magic from the reactive nerves under Harry's skin to the sweat drenched clothes Tom hadn't bothered removing. A tight coiling in the pit of Tom's stomach told him he was close, but it was a late notice as Harry tightened around him, nothing but a yelp of pleasure signaling he was about to release. The white seed spurted from the young savior's cock, but Tom barely noticed, entirely too focused on his own release to see Harry come down from his high. They sat there for a moment, basking in the glorious aftermath of their actions before Tom finally pushed himself up on his hands, staring almost – _almost_ – lovingly into green orbs.

"I don't belong to you." Tom allowed a small smile to grace his face at Harry's words.

"You're not my equal." They could play that game for the rest of eternity and neither of them would ever be any less wrong.

"Would you like to go commit murder?" Harry's question only halfway shocked him.

"The Dursleys?" The smile curved to a smirk. "I'd love to." For Tom and Harry, there was no happily ever after, but even the most stubborn of people had to admit:

They were cutting it pretty close.


End file.
